


The Stars in our Sky

by TenebrarumDomini



Series: Stars [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "Don't go down the third floor corridor if you don't want to die", "Or worse - expelled", Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Draco makes Chaser, Harry Dies, Harry blows up the third floor corridor, Harry makes Seeker, M/M, Norbet hatches again, Ollivander's as creepy as ever, The sorting hat is one sneaky bastard, but not for long, harry makes friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenebrarumDomini/pseuds/TenebrarumDomini
Summary: In which Harry Potter is offered his very own golden ticket and born to life once more. A conversation goes differently and this time, his robes carry the serpent rather than the lion.A tale of redemption and friendship, feeling and magic. A tale in which characters are flawed, nobody is perfect and everyone makes mistakes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott & Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini & Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101416
Comments: 113
Kudos: 816





	1. In Which Harry Dies and a challenge is born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry Potter is dead."

It was cold. So very cold.

"Why are you here?" 

The winds whipped at his bare skin like a whip, merciless in its onslaught, harsh and unforgiving. The shadows danced around him, nipping his flesh and freezing his bones. His toes were frozen, his limbs trapped in eternal chains. Body encased in ice and mind frozen in despair, he could only hope the _-cold-harsh-horrible-despicable-_ winds ceased soon. 

But, no. He wasn't just cold.

_Dead._

"It is not your time." 

The whispers were excited, all soft voices and delighted giggles. _He's here_ , they sang, _at last, he’s here._

"Oh? He is here?" 

He knew what they were, even when his lips were blue with the sheer force of the glacial temperatures and his eyes frozen like winter foliage. A melody that sought his soul, locked his magic in a perpetual harmony that would never end. The song of Death greeted him, not a soft embrace, but a storm of endurance, a test that he needed to pass. A test in which failure was not an option and success was all he had.

"Naturally. A test." 

Violently trembling, he stood on shaky legs, skin so pale, purple and blue veins danced across his face like a spider’s web. His eyes found a refuge, a beacon of light that fell on a woman with fiery red hair and a man with raven locks that stood up at every angle. The similarities were many; her eyes, his hair, her temper, his skills.

"But can you pass the test?" 

"Mum... Dad..." he croaked, eyes swelling with tears that froze as soon as they reached his cheeks. 

_"My darling Harry..."_

He staggered towards them, the jarring winds of ice becoming savage in their rampage for his life as he drew closer, almost feral as he _-cried-ran-crawled-_ towards his parents, towards the ones that he never knew yet sacrificed everything. 

"Go on. Find them." 

But it seemed their reunion was not meant to be as their glowing forms flickered, glitching until with another bite of _-despair-please-panic-help-_ they vanished in a cloud of golden sparks, a feminine scream drowning him as haunting green light obscured his vision. 

_"Not Harry! Not Harry!"_

_"Lily! Run, go! Its him! I'll hold him off!"_

_"-stand aside, foolish girl, stand aside-"_

_Please._

"Indeed." 

He turned, almost losing his balance as he wrapped an arm around himself, battling the hurricane of ice and snow that was hurtling in his way, trying in earnest to halt his trembling steps. His bones were weak from the chill, his lips a frosty blue as opposed to their usual soft pink. Questions whirled in his head far faster than the blizzard he was battling, but all he could remember was a flash of green light and the darkness of a forest.

"Who are you?" He called; voice hoarse with the tone of a man that had been offered the world and had it snatched from his open grasp. 

"I am many things."

And even without saying it, he knew who it was, or rather, what it was. No other sentiment could strike spears of fear so deep into mortal hearts, no other could take so much from him and see the sun dawn once more. It was a common desire among men for revenge, natural. They thirsted for blood on their hands and enemy's at their feet, vindictive pleasure as a warped sense of justice was carried out. Yet he could not have revenge on an deity that snatched his friends and stole his family. After all, who could kill Death?

"What do you want?" 

He looker closer at the shadows. They were moving: a fierce gale of power as they wrapped around a tall figure standing in the corner. 

"I wish to know why you are here. It is not your time." 

Lips numb with the blizzard corralling on his skin, he could only rasp a soft and quiet, "What?" that echoed despite the turbulence. 

The shadows were twisting and dancing, a raging crescendo as they swirled ever faster, fastening firmly on the merging figure that had silver dripping from his tongue.

"Why are you here, _Harry Potter?_ " It was said forcefully and as the last syllable fell from forming lips, the boy named Harry Potter gasped. 

The cold swept away like it was never there, the only memory if its existence were the bumps on his arms and the chill to his bones that had not left, even as warmth rushed in like a symphony. 

"I see." 

And suddenly, the darkness stilled and fell away to reveal an almost skeletal man in a shrouding black cloak, soulless eyes staring at him with the endless tenebrosity. 

"You should not be here. But you are. Why is that?" 

“Don't... don't... know." He croaked. 

The figure never moved, limbs never thrumming to the beat of non-existent blood. It was unnatural, the way he stood absolutely motionless. His lips never parting to swallow oxygen, yet it was very much a living being. 

"Yes, you do, Harry Potter. You made the choice to walk to your demise for the good of others. You chose to come here. I wish to know why." 

Harry Potter swallowed, a thick, jerky movement that felt so out of place in the stillness of the world around him. Nothing moved. Nothing could be heard apart from the whispers that were steadily climbing to meet their crest. 

"I- I had to... Dum-Dumbledore... horcrux-" 

"Yes. A foul piece of magic that should be eradicated, I whole heartedly agree. But you did not answer my question. Why have you walked willingly into my embrace?" 

His legs felt liable to collapse at any moment, his throat contracting as he struggled for an answer, just an answer to satisfy the beings curiosity. "Because I am unafraid to do what must be done." 

The silence stretched for an eternity. Only his slightly uneven breathing pierced the unstainable hush that had settled over them like a too warm blanket. 

"You are not, are you, Harry Potter? Very well. You have passed my test; therefore, I am duty bound to grant your soul's wish. Family is a fragile thing, Harry Potter, able to slip from your mortal fingers in an instant. What must be done will be done and even your knowledge cannot halt destiny. Until we meet again.” 

His trembling had ceased to just the random shiver and with the warmth, the courage seeped back in. He did not have time to ponder the words of the man cloaked in the dark, before his own vulnerable whispers that were shared under the beauty of the stars were echoing and reverberating in his mind and pitted eyes were boring into his own. Time twisted and danced until it was as insignificant as the spider that used to haunt his cupboard. He was spinning and shrinking like Alice in Wonderland, tiny hands reaching for nought but air. 

"You'll stay with me?" 

And almost immediately they answered. 

_"Always.”_


	2. In Which Harry Remembers and the Potters Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "James Potter fell like a marionette who's strings had been cut."

_We fall too fast_

_And crash too hard_

_Like shooting stars_

_In a galaxy_

_Of broken hearts_

* * *

Harry Potter remembers many things. 

He remembers standing opposite a man with a purple turban and the shell of the Dark Lord possessing the back of his head. He remembers the determination that burnt as brightly as the fire around him as he clutched a blood red stone. He remembers a dark chamber, a girl with red hair and a boy with cruel eyes that watched as the king of snakes snapped its fangs at him. He remembers despair clawing at his insides and fear, an emotion he seldom felt, spreading far faster than the venom in his veins. 

Harry Potter remembers many things. 

A man with a bark-like laugh and haunted eyes, a girl with bushy hair and a bossy tone, a boy with fierce red hair and spotted freckles. A tower in a castle, decked in bold shades of red and gold. 

He remembers laughter and solitude, friendship and compassion. He remembers the feeling of being loved and warm. He remembers great adventures and eternal friends that stuck by his side through thick and thin, sanity and madness. He remembers a song: a song that sang of hope and joy and flared brighter than the sun. 

Harry Potter remembers many things. 

With the warmth comes the cold, a tidal of sorrow and melancholia. He remembers the grief that shred his heart to pieces as the man with the shaggy black hair fell through the veil. He remembers the way his lungs crushed as a boy in yellow and black fell with a flash of green light. He remembers the way the man with the silver beard and impossibly blue eyes tumbled from the tower, leaving a hole of despair that took lifetimes to climb out of. 

With the happiness came the sadness, and with the past came the present. 

Harry Potter remembers many things from the past when he was Just Harry. 

He remembers every tear he shed, every drop of blood he spilt, every time his mind fell apart and was hastily sewn together again. He remembers emotional hugs and desperate pleads. He remembers a stag and a dog, a rat and a wolf. He remembers magic and wonder, trains and castles. 

Harry Potter remembers many things from the present, where he is still only Harry Potter. 

He remembers waking up to flaming red hair and tired green eyes. He remembers being held by the man that fell gracefully into the veil all those years ago. He remembers warm hazel orbs and shining amber eyes, watery blue and jaded green. He remembers seeing the old man with wisdom hidden in his gaze waving a wand at him and blinking in surprise. He remembers exclamations and awed discussions over how powerful his magical reserves were. 

He remembers rhymes hummed with a sweet tune as he was rocked back and forth, endless nights spent just staring at the stars that twinkled back, proof that he could see them once again. 

He remembers evenings filled with laughter, mornings beginning with smiles and afternoons brimming with joy. He remembers broomstick rides and adventures on the back of a stag, strange animal noises and antlers that gave him the nickname Prongs. 

Harry remembers Lily and James Potter. 

He remembers liquid gold and shining silver. He remembers charming grins and sharp cheekbones. He remembers tawny hair and chocolate. He remembers the man named Padfoot and the werewolf named Moony. 

Harry remembers Sirius and Remus. 

He remembers the moment the smiles became rare and the laughter rang emptily in the ever-present silence. He remembers the moment the prophecy hung a noose around their necks. 

Harry Potter remembers Halloween. 

The door fulminated with a sudden crash that froze his babyish giggles and his father’s smoke rings. James Potter hurried to delay the Dark Lord with nothing but his sheer stubbornness to give his wife and son a fighting chance. 

He fell like a marionette with its strings abruptly cut. 

All it took was a single spell, seven syllables, twelve letters and malicious intent for James Potter to crumble like a stone wall too old to withstand a final storm. 

Tears tainted his mother’s pale cheeks as she staggered up the stairs, her child clutched in her arms. She barricaded the door with all the furniture in sight, but with a simple sweep of a certain yew wand, the door exploded, revealing Lord Voldemort.  
He was the monster that lurked under the bed, the shadows that sheltered the wardrobe. He was the nightmares that had you waking with terror filled screams that frayed your throat. He was the living embodiment of darkness, crawling with the oily scent of evil. More beast than man, more serpent than human. Crimson red eyes devoid of humanity locked upon brave Lily Potter as she set her baby down in his cot and stood in front of him, arms flung out and tears falling like fresh rivers as if by shielding him was to divert the Dark Lord’s attention. 

_"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please not Harry!"_

He laughed coldly, serpentine lips curling into a vicious sneer. _"Stand aside, silly girl, stand aside..."_

_"Take me! Take me instead! Please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside... stand aside, girl!”_

_"Not Harry! Not Harry! I’ll do anything!"_

A beam of stunning green light that whispered with the souls of the departed connected with Lily Potter’s chest, as she took a breath, never to release it. She screamed as she crumpled like a paper ball, shards of fragmented glass crunching under her like the fragile illusion of their dying dreams. Those brilliant emerald eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as if she were only seeing the stars once more. Glassy, dull, _dead_. 

The wand turned on him, and as the tip radiated the same light that had stolen his mother and father, Harry Potter remembered.

He remembered watching a man with pasty skin and gleaming crimson eyes erupt from a cauldron. He remembered walking to a clearing in the forest where the green light collided with his heart, and a sixteen-year-old Slytherin prefect that hissed in the snake’s tongue. 

He remembered a man wrongfully imprisoned, a boy without parents, a rat scampering away from his crimes. 

He remembered what would become of the Dark Lord. 

Harry Potter closed his eyes as the one curse that was never cheated, hit his forehead. 

That terrible cold filled his insides. 

Someone was _screaming_ \- 

Someone was _shouting_ \- 

Someone was _crying_ \- 

The warmth flooded back. 

Someone was _singing_ \- 

Someone was _laughing_ \- 

Someone was _smiling_ \- 

Harry Potter opened his eyes. 

The Dark Lord didn't. 


	3. In Which Harry Runs From Dudley, Lets Loose a Snake Because He's Bored and Turns His Teacher's Hair Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aunt Petunia never did seem to believe that he didn't mean to do it."

_Do not go gentle into_

_That good night._

_Rage, rage agaisnt the_

_Dying of the light._

* * *

He was running and twisting and turning. He was dodging and sprinting and ducking. He was running from the physical beings after him and the mental ghosts haunting him. As he ran, his mind ran with him, reluctantly granting his wish. Memories of a life he had once lived retreated into a small box at the very back of his mindscape, locked with an impenetrable seal that would never break as long as he wanted it closed. Relief crashed over him in waves as the nightmare with the red eyes screamed an inhuman sound and shrank into the box. A small unnerving red-headed girl tilted her head eerily as she flickered like a simple illusion and melted into her new prison. 

  
They were gaining on him. His cousin had never been a fan of exercise, and he could hear the panting and wheezing even as he put more distance between them. Small children tittered angrily as he shoved past them, using their light and nearly weightless bodies to put obstacles in his wake. Dudley pushed past them without a regard for the sound of a shattering bone or the metallic scent of blood spilling. He was tiring, and he knew it. The energetic laughter of girls and boys playing numerous games echoed loudly in his ears, and he winced. His ears had always been sensitive to sound when he was running. A secluded alley lay up ahead, and seeking refuge, he ducked in only to skid to a halt when he saw the looming brick wall that was very much solid and very much a dead end. 

  
Dudley and his gang followed just seconds later, and the vindictive identical smirks on their faces had his heart leaping to his throat. How he wished he had his wand, his loyal companion that had never failed to assist him. He screwed his eyes shut, wishing he had the bushy haired girl that the box helpfully labelled Hermione. He’d only done it a handful of times, and even then, one was accidental magic. 

  
They were closing in. Their ragged breaths sounded like booming thunder as not only them, but the walls tightened as well. His breathing was getting erratic – he knew that – but he was trying so hard to concentrate, trying to will himself away from relentless fists and sharp words that cut deeper than their fat hands. He felt for that never ending flow of energy and raw magic that _thrummed_ in his veins and sung a symphony far sadder than one could express in words. It felt like warm sunlight as he found it, a rich blue that visualized itself as a broken sea constantly at war with no clear enemy in sight. He seized it, let the scent of salt and cold winds drown him before trapping it under his will and _twisting_. 

  
He spun on the spot and with a crack that echoed in the following bewildered silence, felt that familiar feeling of being compressed in a tube that was too small to funnel his internal organs. He breathed in the fresh air and watched the organized chaos of lunchtime at primary school even as his magic settled down and retreated back within him, its job done. 

  
Harry Potter landed on the school roof, a proud smile on his face as he swept his messy jet-black hair out of his eyes, revealing the legendary lightning bolt scar.

* * *

“So, Harry, could you tell us all what five times two is?” 

Miss Jenkins smiled patiently down at him, a muscle twitching in her jaw as she evidently worked to keep herself from snapping. 

Harry sighed, absently running a hand through his hair – a signature gesture of his father's, James Potter. It looked odd on an eight-year-old boy, made him look like an old soul in a child’s body. Miss Jenkin's eye was spasming in irritation as he remained silent, looking at her with wide eyes that clearly said _I don't know_. He did know. He knew all his times tables like the back of his hand. It was the downside of having a dolt for a cousin. Forced to downplay his intelligence so Dudley could take the spotlight. 

  
“It's very simple, Harry. Come on, count with me... one times two is two, two times two is four...” 

  
Harry remained silent. 

  
“All right,” Miss Jenkins sighed, her brown eyes flashing slightly as she stared at him in recognizable annoyance. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to write a note home for your parents-" Harry barely repressed his reactive flinch to the word _parent_. “-if this carries on. You have to join in with class discussions, Harry.” 

  
He bowed his head like he was ashamed, fringe thankfully covering his jaded green eyes hidden behind taped and cracked glasses.

He hated acting the fool, handing over his deserved concession to an overgrown pig in a human's skin. He hated the way he had been condemned to ten long years away from his rightful world when they celebrated him as their saviour. Ten years pushed to the side in a dark cupboard under the stairs with only the chattering spiders and the whispering shadows for company. 

  
He no longer thought of himself as the small, shy boy that had hung onto Ron Weasley’s every word as he babbled about strange sports and ridiculous sweets, stubbornly proclaiming he was _Just Harry_. He was _Harry Potter_ now, the quiet boy with a lightning scar and the magic that ran like the ocean through his fingers. He was the boy that had the blindfold crudely ripped off and exposed to the _true_ darkness of the world. It wasn't the monster under the bed or the drunken men in the streets, but the woman with thick, curly hair and an insane cackle as she tortured innocents under her wand. It was seeing classmates slaughtered before your eyes and family falling when you're helpless to stop it. It was death and destruction, magic and tragedy. It was a wound that never healed, a scab you couldn't help picking. 

  
He knew they watched him sometimes – wizards. He sometimes felt the echoes of a tracking charm settling over him, but it felt so wrong on his skin. Like bugs biting his flesh or oily scales coiling around his limbs. They never stayed on him for long. 

  
Miss Jenkins was speaking again and Harry suddenly wondered why he did it. Why he stayed here when he'd already lived his life and done his tedious school work. The answer came unwillingly to him and he supposed that yes, perhaps the reason he had subjected himself to all the pain and truths again was so that he could save people like him. People that made sacrifices for the greater good and felt they had to let that stone fall from their hand as they confronted death in a lamentable cry of _Avada Kedavra._

  
“Harry! Are you listening!” 

  
Dull anger boiled in his gut and before he could cage it, a tendril of his magic had whipped out and with not even a noise, Miss Jenkins mousy hair turned a fierce, bright blue and stood up like static electricity. Eyes widened impossibly as the children in the class stared at her hair. 

  
Harry Potter sighed and mentally wondered how he was going to explain _this_ one. 

* * *

  
The swings creaked in protest as he swung on them. 

  
The park was deserted in the face of the sun's peak. Not many parents wanted their children out in the sweltering heats of midday. It was at moments like this that he didn't mind the benefits of being an orphan.   
The trees swayed in the unobtrusive winds, leaving crinkling and crackling leaves to float gently down to the soiled ground. Autumn was among them, and never before had it been so beautiful. His head tilted back as the breeze tenderly ran abstract fingers through his hair. The whole world shifted as he opened his eyes halfway upside down. It was like seeing his warped reflection in the rippling surface of a lake. Bright green eyes alight with wonder at the change of the world, and feeling very much like the only person to ever see such a view, Harry pulled himself upright, head spinning delightfully at the sudden gravitational reversal. He swung higher and higher, smiling against the sun and closing his eyes against the instantaneous bliss that assaulted him. His worries slipped away until it was simply him and the zephyr with the sun shining radiantly down at them all. 

  
A blithe smile on his lips, he jumped off the swing as it hit the very highest it could go. He wasn't met with jarring knees and solid ground, but with air, so light and fluid. He drifted gently to the ground and when his eyes finally opened, they were alight with the beauty of the sun and the twinkle of the stars. 

* * *

  
Petunia stood in front of him with pursed lips and a firm scowl.

“Put this on, boy.” 

  
Harry’s eyes rolled to the side slightly, as if asking a silent _why?_

  
_“Put it on, boy, before I get Vernon up here!”_

  
He looked at the hideous garment in his Aunt's hands and contemplated if a punishment from Vernon was better than trying on the ghastly jumper that had stretched big enough to fit a baby whale. With a sigh - he really seemed to be doing that a lot lately – he took the repulsive excuse for a jumper between his thumb and forefinger like he'd be contaminated by just touching the ugly thing. Petunia huffed in exasperation and snatched it back, shoving it over his head without as much as a warning. His glasses fell off their perch on his nose making his eyes water, before Petunia tried to shove it down again, breathing heavily as the neck wouldn't fit over his head. 

  
“It - won't- fit!” 

  
That didn't mean she wouldn't try. Yanking and pulling, she was practically suffocating him as the beige monstrosity became smaller and smaller. 

  
_I don't want to wear it. I don't want to wear it. Make it smaller! MAKE IT SMALLER!_

  
The jumper shrank rapidly, receding into a size able to fit snugly around a small dog and yet still, Petunia tried in vain to get him in it. 

  
“What – are – you – doing – boy!” 

  
“Nothing!” Harry choked, trying to shove it off. 

  
Finally, _finally_ , she admitted defeat. After all, how could a knitted garble shaped like something remotely shirt-like the size of a worm fit a growing boy? With a grunt, she jerked it off, looking at the abbreviated strand of wool with a strange expression. She glanced at Harry, at the jumper – or what was left of it – and then back at Harry. At last, she schooled her expression and with a sniff, marched out the room with her nose in the air and saying a stiff, “It was a horrible thing anyways.” 

  
Harry rubbed his nose, glared at the door and followed his aunt down the stairs, mentally begging his eleventh birthday to come sooner. 

* * *

“Make it move!” 

  
Harry sighed at the sheer obnoxity in his cousin’s voice. It was like he expected Vernon to deliver him a chunk of the moon on a silver platter should he ask ( _demand_ ) it. 

  
He had, once again, been dragged along to Dudley's zoo birthday outing, and after being sharply elbowed by Piers Polkiss and roughly shoved by Malcolm – not to mention chased into another round of the infamous _Harry Hunting_ by Dudley – Vernon had given him a stern lecture of all the ways he wasn't allowed to behave on ‘ _Duder’s Special Day'_ and if he caught wind of any ‘ _freakishness_ ' he'd be locked in his cupboard for the next decade. 

  
After the deliciously cheap ice lolly his Uncle had been pressured into giving him, they had all headed into the reptile house and just as he once had, Dudley banged on the poor snake’s glass. 

  
Vernon rapped pompously on the glass, beady eyes narrowing in annoyance when the snake didn't even twitch. 

  
Dudley huffed. “He’s boring!” And off he went to look at the next animal that could hold his attention for more than a second. 

  
Harry leaned against the glass, glancing at the awe-filled faces of kids in various stages of childhood as they gawped and gasped over exotic creatures. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Turning back to the serpent wrapped lazily around it’s warm stone, Harry murmured a quiet, “ _Sorry about them. They're rather rude.”_

  
The snake blinked, scaled head raising to meet his eyes. “ _Hmm. I get it a lot, human child. What brings you to my prison?”_

Chancing another look around, Harry leaned closer to the glass. “ _How would you like to be free?”_

  
_“Free? You mean leave this place and seek my hatchlings?”_

  
_“Yeah.”_

  
The snake's forked tongue whipped out to taste the air and with a lazy incoherent hiss, uncoiled itself from the rock. _“Go on then, strange boy. Get me free and you shall the serpents ever in your favour.”_

  
With a small smile, Harry closed his eyes. 

  
_I want it to_ crack _. I want the glass to_ shatter _. I want it to_ shatter _-_

  
With a ringing crash, the panel dividing the snake from the visitors broke with a crack, small fragments forming like a spreading spider web. Dudley screamed, Petunia shrieked, Piers whimpered and Vernon did all three. 

  
Harry leant back and winked at the snake he had freed out of sheer boredom. 

  
_“Thanksss amigo...”_

  
“ _Anytime_.” Harry replied with a smile. 

  
Vernon thundered towards him, face changing faster than a set of traffic lights as he grabbed Harry by the collar and demanded he own up. Harry stared back with faked feared eyes, making a woman in the crowd pull him away and say a fierce, “Of course the poor dear hasn't! Good lord! The boy was standing miles away! To man-handle a child!” 

  
Harry resisted the urge to throw Vernon a smug smirk over the lady's shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know these past few chapters have been really short, the next few will be longer. Like 3000+


	4. In Which Harry Terrifies His Aunt, Scares His Uncle and Amazes His Cousin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Call me Hagrid: everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts."

_I will love_

_you as_

_the sea loves._

_In gentle waves_

_And in_

_Ferocious storms_. 

* * *

The morning of July 30th dawned, and with it, an anticipated Harry Potter. 

He lay awake in his cupboard, the sun filtering through the cracks in the door as his stomach twisted and his heart thumped almost painfully in his chest. He tried to close his eyes and settle his churning mind, but it was not to be. With an inaudible groan, he sat upright, head bowing and hair falling in his bleary eyes as he waited for the inevitable crow for breakfast. His blood sang in his veins, almost leaping out from its cage of flesh at the very thought of seeing Diagon Alley and being surrounded by all that magic again. If he closed his eyes and let his mind wander for just a second, he could almost feel the tingle on his skin as magic crackled in the air around him like the sun rising from the shelter of night. 

  
He wished for nothing more than to leap out of the cupboard, sprint out of the door and wait for the postman to come with his letter - as was custom for muggle-born or raised new students. He wished to feel the familiar thickness of parchment and that neat emerald script that had been his salvation all those lifetimes ago. But more than anything, he wished to go home. 

  
And yes, Hogwarts was his home. The aging stone walls and historic tapestries were his refuge from the mundane life he'd be falsely led to believe was his own. He didn't belong in the muggle world with all the dumpy boys and frilly girls that would grow up to be ordinary nurses and accountants. Ordinary, ordinary, _ordinary_. 

  
Harry Potter was far from ordinary.  
He belonged among the many witches and wizards that hid in the world. He belonged amongst wands and magic and the remarkable. He belonged with shy boys that wore lions on their robes, bushy haired girls that never failed to solve a mystery. He even belonged with haughty young heirs with upturned noses and unbelievably blonde hair. Magic, magic, _magic_. 

  
His magic was restless under his skin, so eager to feel the foreign wizardry of others and the sheer rightness of holding his wand – _oh his wand_ – again. His loyal companion, never wavering in loyalty to him, even when the Dark Lord that shared the brother core stole it from him. His wand that had sensed its wizard had faltered and spun in his hand to save his life. 

  
Harry clenched his jaw as if he were physically swallowing the pain of seeing his shaft of Holly wood snapped in two like it was no more than a common twig. It had remained in his mole-skin pouch along with the snitch be had caught in his first Quidditch match and had later housed the resurrection stone, the shard of glass that was the anchor for his Godfather's love, and the Marauders Map: his father's legacy made along with his brothers in all but blood. Well, discounting Peter of course. The _traitorous_ -

  
Harry blinked, frowning. 

  
Was he a rat or a mouse?

The memory danced just out of his reach, and Harry chased after it, realisation hitting him with the force of the Hogwarts Express. His memories of his other life – as he'd taken to calling it – were distancing themselves from the memories of his current life, creating an odd distortion between the three tenses. For just a moment, he could have sworn time ceased to exist as his mind struggled between determining past, present and future. 

  
_Is, was, will._

  
But which one? 

  
_All of them._

  
Randomly, a thought crossed his mind and he clung to it like a lifeline. 

  
_The traitorous little rat._

  
_Rat_! Peter was a rat! Nicknamed Wormtail by his friends and would-be servant of Lord Voldemort. 

  
His mind stilled as if listening to a silent command, before everything ordered itself neatly. Past slotted back into the box he had made all those years ago. He examined it more closely. Small cracks were appearing all over the surface – his impenetrable seal was weakening and he mentally berated himself for being so careless. With a reinforced thought, the box fastened and defensive shields like a barrier wrapped around his surface thoughts. Wanting to hit himself, Harry remembered Occlumency and Snape. Was he really so _dense_ to forget the Potions Master was a Legilimens? Harry had the strange urge to scream. He hadn't practiced clearing his mind at all and he was prepared to go look a mind reader in the eye when said mind reader had a _huge_ – if rather petty – grudge on his dead father? 

  
_Note to self: buy every book on Occlumency and study for a month._

  
“Up! Get up!” 

  
Closing his eyes briefly, Harry heaved himself up, mindful to duck an exceptionally low bit of the ‘ _ceiling_ ’ on his way. Pushing his mind worries to the side, he opened his cupboard door and shuffled to the kitchen, wiping the residue of sleep from his eyes as he did. 

  
“Bring me my coffee, boy!” 

  
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” 

  
Vernon grunted and turned a page of his newspaper. “Some freak has escaped from an asylum, Petunia. Make sure you tell Duders not to go out alone.” 

  
Harry rolled his eyes as he boiled the kettle and added the sugar to his Aunt's tea. Anyone that made the news for illnesses, Vernon automatically labelled them insane or a freak. 

  
The kettle finished boiling with a loud whistle. Vernon threw Harry a beady eyed look that clearly said, ‘ _Did you have something to do with the freak escaping, boy?_ ’ Harry stared back at him with a discreetly raised eyebrow and flat eyes that spoke volumes. ‘ _Do I_ look _like I did_?’ Vernon cast him a final, suspicious glare before he made a little ‘ _hmph_ ’ and turned his full attention back to his paper, sipping his coffee like he expected Harry poisoned it. 

  
Dudley waddled in minutes later, yawning with dried drool on his chin. He immediately sank into his chair, ignoring the groaning protests it made and looking at Harry expectantly. Harry stared back with a natural air that screamed patronizing. Dudley squirmed slightly in his seat before raising his double chin. With a nasty grin, he turned to Vernon and his whole face twisted into a whiny, innocent expression of a younger child. “Dad!” he wailed, “Harry hasn't done my breakfast yet and Piers is coming over later!” 

  
Vernon grunted again. “Hurry up, boy!” 

Harry sighed. Emotional manipulation was Dudley’s forte and unfortunately for Harry, he was always on the brunt end of things. He checked the toaster to make sure the toast wasn't burning, and sweeping his hair out of his eyes, he grabbed the chocolate spread from the kitchen cupboard and popped the bread out of the toaster with an audible _ping_. Seconds later, his cousin’s breakfast was done and served, and he was left to sit at the table and try not to vibrate in his seat. The minutes passed and he tried not to sit like a cobra tensed and ready to strike. Dudley was eyeing him oddly and even Vernon kept glancing sideways. Harry strained his ears and simply took to staring at the large grandfather clock hanging on the wall. The hands clanged as they shifted and- _was it him or had time slowed impossibly?_

Vernon slammed his newspaper down violently and Petunia jumped. " _What_ is going on with you, boy!?" 

"Nothing." Harry said convincingly, staring at his Uncle and pretending he was his Hogwarts letter. It didn't work. Vernon looked dubiously at him, his jaw working furiously. 

Harry's leg twitched as the clock struck eleven: the normal time the post arrived. _Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon_ \- 

He heard it. The post thumping as it fell through the letterbox and onto the rug. 

"Get the post, Dudley." 

"Make Harry get it." 

Yeah, make Harry get it. 

"Get the post, Harry." 

"Of course, Uncle." He said graciously, rising from the table and unsuccessfully trying to keep himself from skipping.

  
Heart lodged in his throat and blood thumping erratically in his ears, he picked up the bills and letters, fearing a heart attack every time his eyes roamed over the colour green and skipped a long beat. 

  
He found it at last and for a long while – maybe centuries, maybe minutes – he stood there and just stared at it. Just feeling the smoothness of the parchment in his hands and the glinting emerald ink, just a shade darker than his eyes. Feverishly, like the minute he blinked it would vanish, he turned it over with trembling fingers. His lungs suddenly felt two sizes too big, his skin too constructive to hold all his organs that threatened to spill from him, because there, in melted maroon wax, was a lion and a snake, a badger and a raven. The great hall flickered before his eyes. Brash reds and rich golds draping over the Gryffindor table whilst proud verdant greens and sparkling silvers shone at the Slytherin table. Soft yellows and deep blacks adorned the Hufflepuff table as opulent blues and metallic silvers garnished the Ravenclaw table. 

  
His shaking hands tore clumsily at the thick parchment, unable to comprehend that this was real. This was really happening. He was going home. 

  
And there it was, those letters emblazoned in a bold black. 

  
_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

  
There was McGonagall's signature and all Dumbledore's many titles and it was so much to take in because all he could think about were the cosy silk beds and moving staircases that would whirl with magic. 

  
A grin spread across his usually stoic face and his eyes lit up. Abandoning all the other worthless catalogues and adverts Vernon would toss in the bin later anyway, he held his letter like it was his life as he strode into the dining room. The light within him that usually flickered, blazed with so many emotions he could hardly name them all.   
Petunia paled drastically as she saw the letter, hands grasping the edge of the table with white knuckles. “Vernon.” she whispered faintly. 

  
“What now?” 

  
But Harry beat her to it. “I got my Hogwarts letter, dear Uncle, and I'm going to learn magic.” 

  
He didn't think he'd ever seen Vernon so pale so quickly. 

* * *

The atmosphere around the table was very, _very_ tense after that abrupt announcement.   
Dudley hadn't stopped asking questions, Petunia sat there just staring at him like she was seeing someone else, and Vernon looked on the verge of an epileptic fit. 

  
“I will not- I will not have such- such _freakishness_ in my house!” He sputtered with rage, brandishing his rolled-up newspaper like it was a particularly fierce weapon. 

  
“Well,” Harry said pleasantly, “I don't particularly want to be here either. I've got a convict for a Godfather and a future Headmaster that's fooled himself into thinking I'm safe and happy. If I had my way, I'd pack my bags and head off to Grimmauld Place right now. Merlin knows Kreacher needs some company – _the batty old elf.”_

  
They all stared at him. 

  
“’ _Merlin’! ‘Merlin_ ’! What is this nonsense?!” 

  
“You've focused on the entire wrong part of the- Never mind... _never mind.”_

  
Dudley was looking between Harry and Vernon like they were a particularly interesting cartoon. “What, like, actual magic? You're gonna study actual magic?”

  
Harry s lips flickered into a smirk before it was extinguished. “Yeah. With a wand and everything.” 

  
An explosive gargle erupted from Petunia’s mouth as she stood up, chair flying back as an angry flush worked its way up her horse-like neck. “You're just like her! Like Lily! It's- I agreed when I took you in that I would stomp the- the _magic_ out of you! But no! You're just like her! Oh yes, coming home every holiday with pockets stuffed with frogs and turning teacups into toads! Mother and father were so _proud_ to have a witch in the family, but I was the only one to see her for _what she was!_ A _freak!”_

  
A ringing silence followed her words as Petunia panted heavily, chest heaving like she'd ran a marathon. The smile had long slipped off Harry’s face, replaced by a scary sort of blankness, like the calm before the storm. 

  
“Oh?” It was said so softly, it was almost a whisper: a whisper the silence snatched and threw back. “A freak you say? My mother? _My mother_ was far braver than you, Petunia. I doubt you would stand in front of your son's cot and refuse to step aside. You'd save your own petty ass and leave poor Duders to be slaughtered. _My mother_ was twice the woman you could ever be, Petunia, and I recommend you _never_ forget it.” 

  
Elation fading into a distant memory, Harry stood up suddenly, and with a venomous glare to his pale Aunt, turned on his heel and took shelter in the darkness of his cupboard, Hogwarts letter crumpled in his fist. 

* * *

  
Bang. 

  
Bang. 

  
_Bang_ \- 

  
“ _Quick_ , boy! Get the door!” Petunia whispered urgently, rapping on the cupboard door. Harry contemplated staying in the cupboard just to spite her, but she'd never sounded so fearful before. Grumbling as he tried to clamber over all the junk, he came face to face with a horrified looking Petunia. Her lips were clamped in a straight, thin line and meeting his eyes seemed the equivalent of starting world war two. “Get the door- “

  
_Bang_.

  
His brow furrowed as he shot his Aunt a searching look, wishing he could perform Legilimency. He walked through the halls, trying to keep his left hand from darting straight to his right forearm, where he had usually kept his wand. He glanced at the picture frames as he passed them and finally decided that if the knocker bore him ill will, he could smash the glass and stab them. 

  
Of course, all thoughts of stabbing went out of the window when he saw Hagrid standing there in all his bearded, giant glory. 

  
“Mind if I come in, Harry?” 

  
Harry swallowed. Hagrid still looked as cheerful and buoyant as ever, what with his bright eyes and big smile. His pink umbrella containing the remaining splinters of his wand was sheathed at his side like a weapon and Harry smiled to think of what ridiculous rumours the neighbours were spreading. 

  
“Of course, sir.” It felt out of place to call Hagrid ‘ _sir_ ‘. He was the one that bred illegal dragons in his tiny wooden cabin and befriended an acromantula. 

“Ah, no need to call me sir, Harry.” Boomed Hagrid, beaming jovially. 

  
Harry wrestled his own grin off his face as Vernon caught sight of Hagrid and his fluorescent pink umbrella. 

  
“S-sir! I must ask you leave at once-!” 

  
“Dry up Dursley, yeh great prune.” 

  
Vernon spluttered with rage and stomped into the hall, probably to ask Petunia in a furious whisper if she knew anything about the giant traipsing in his perfectly normal house. 

  
Hagrid’s steps made the telly vibrate on the wall as Harry followed behind him, trying to contain his glee at seeing someone magical in Privet Drive at last, and his growing desolation of the memories of his past life that his sudden appearance had roused. Hagrid looked rather interested at one of Dudley's old mythical creature’s book that had been shoved over to Harry when Ripper had gotten a bit too enthusiastic one afternoon and chewed it half to bits. Dudley didn't even look up as they both entered the living room: too engrossed with his new computer game that involved blowing invaders into bits with guns. Hagrid looked a bit queasy as he looked at it. 

  
Seeing as Dudley wasn't going to move over any time soon, Harry sighed. “Move over, cousin.” 

  
He grunted. 

  
“ _Move_ over.” 

  
Finally, his cousin teared his eyes away from the TV screen, only to do a double take when he saw a man twice the size of Vernon there. “Who are _you?_!” 

  
Hagrid beamed. “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – yer cousin's new school.” 

  
Dudley outright gaped. “New-new school? The y'know,” he lowered his voice like he was about to tell a great secret, “The _magic_ school?” 

  
Harry couldn't hold his smile at the sharp gasp from his eavesdropping Aunt behind the door. Hagrid laughed cheerily. “O' course the magic school! He’s had his name down ever since he was born!” his smile dimmed. “Las' time I saw you; you were no bigger than a bowtruckle! Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes.” 

  
Something alien twisted in Harry's gut, and for the first time, he felt proud to be compared to them. Before it was like a distant longing: a wistful dream to meet the red-headed woman that had refused to step aside and the raven-haired man that opposed the Dark Lord without a weapon. Now it was like fierce pride and nostalgic sorrow for a childhood that would never be yet would always remain in that small cottage that witnessed his infancy. 

  
“Thank you, Mr Hagrid.” 

  
“Ah, jus' Hagrid, Harry! None of that _Mr_ business! Now, Professor Dumbledore sent me to answer any of yer questions ‘bout Hogwarts.” 

  
Dudley had completely abandoned his game to goggle at them, eyes as wide as saucers like he'd just found out there were another bag of cookies left. 

  
Widening his eyes until they looked wide and innocent, Harry asked a soft but undoubtedly eager, “My parents, were they magical too?” 

  
Hagrid’s face coloured in anger. “Yer parents? Yer parents were the fines’ witch and wizard out there! Don't tell me yeh know nothin’ - _nothin_ ' - about Lily and James!?”

  
_Well, yeah, I mean, I did live with them for a year._

  
Harry made a show of deflating and shrinking slightly. “Aunt Petunia told me they died in a car crash.”

  
“Car crash?! CAR CRASH KILL LILY AND JAMES POTTER?! IT'S AN OUTRAGE! A _SCANDAL_!” 

  
Vernon chose that unfortunate second to crash through the door, face beet red and unfortunately for him, the brunt of Hagrid's anger. 

  
“We don't want you here! Out! _OUT_!” Vernon wafted his hands about aggressively, like he was shooing a persistent cat. “We swore when we took the boy in that we would stamp all the nonsense out of him _! I will not_ -!" 

  
“Oh-" Hagrid said in a deep, mocking voice. Harry quelled the desire to pull out a bag of popcorn and settle back into his seat. “-an' I suppose a great muggle like yourself is gonna stop ‘im? This boy ‘as had ‘is name down since before he was born!” 

  
Vernon swelled with rage, jabbing a stubby finger in their direction. “What did you call me?! _What did you call me?!_ Out! Get out!” 

  
Harry looked carefully at his Uncle's expression. He looked truly angry with an undertone of fear - as would be expected- but there was something else about the way he was acting. He stood with his back towards the door as if shielding someone from view. With a frown, he noticed Aunt Petunia white and shaking behind him. _What_ \- 

  
Ah. 

  
She must be afraid or have some form of PTSD of magical people. 

  
Inwardly sighing, he tugged on Hagrid’s large sleeve and stole the man's attention. “Please Mr- I mean, Hagrid,” dear god, it felt odd calling Hagrid _Mr_ or _Sir_ , “Could you help me get my school things? I- I don't know where- where...”

  
Hagrid smiled down at him, a proud sort of smile on his face as if he was entrusted with a very important job. “O' course, Harry! Do yer want ter go now?”

  
Harry nodded, that same anticipation that had struck him when he woke up returning full force. “Yes please. Bye Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon... Dudley.” 

  
And so, Harry stuck to Hagrid's large frame as they left Privet Drive, watching as he summoned the Knight Bus and expressing a sort of childish excitement that was only half faked as he fired off pointless questions he already knew the answers to at a rapid speed. 

  
The wind brushed Harry’s hair and he smiled like he knew something no one else did. 


	5. In Which Goblins are Sneaky, Harry has a questionable Imagination and We Meet the Malfoys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mr Potter."

_The winded lifted me_

_Up into the trees_

_Where I danced_

_To the rhythm_

_Of the evergreen,_

_Swaying to the tune_

_Of the northern breeze_

_Frozen in timeless melody._

* * *

Magic danced along his skin, energy pulsing almost audibly in his ears, noises entwining with the power until it was a huge symphony of sensations washing over him. The wall slid apart and reshaped into an archway until in front of his very eyes is everything that he had been craving. 

  
Wizards in various styles of robes hurried in and out of shops, witches dragging bored-looking children around as they exclaimed over prices (“Ten Galleons a unicorn horn! In my day, it was two!”). Perfectly polished broomsticks displayed tantalizingly in the window of _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ , stack upon stack of gleaming new books flashing in Flourish & Blotts and mountains of sweets in every colour imaginable exploding over the London branch of Honeydukes. Zonko's was letting off bangs and sudden firework displays just out of view as an astronomy shop played a truly magical projection of the stars. 

  
Colours and sounds assaulted his ears giving him a bit of a dazed look that Hagrid mistook for dumbstruck wonder at seeing a magically populated area for the first time. Clapping him on the shoulder and nearly sending Harry flying, Hagrid said a cheerful, “Welcome to Diagon Alley!” 

  
_Indeed_ , welcome to Diagon Alley. 

  
They'd greeted Tom the barman and repeated the whole, “ _Good Merlin! Harry Potter_!”, thing earlier and Harry was still trying to discreetly wipe his hands on his trousers from all the handshakes he'd received. Quirrell had made his stuttered introduction and tactfully kept his hand well away from him. Harry would have liked to have seen the man try and explain to the whole pub why his hand disintegrated upon touching the Boy-Who-Lived. 

  
“Gringotts firs'! Need ter get yer gold! Not lookin' forward to the cart ride, I'll tell yeh.” 

  
He followed Hagrid to the bank, his eyes never resting on the same place for longer than a few seconds. There was so much to take in – so much to reacquaint himself with. He so desperately wanted a broom – a Nimbus Two Thousand until the Firebolt came out – to feel the wind in his hair and the sun on his face as he scouted for the tiny, glinting ball of gold. He wanted the familiar weight of his wand in his hand and the warmth it gave. He wanted, wanted, _wanted_. 

  
Gazing wistfully around at the crowded alley one last time, Harry turned just in time to glimpse that legendary poem that decorated the gold doors before he entered Gringotts Wizarding Bank for the first time in years. 

  
_'So if you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours, thief, you have been warned, beware, of finding more than treasure there.'_

  
Oh yes, Harry remembered quite clearly what else lurked in the twisting tunnels of the bank. He could recall rather well the time he, the boy with the carrot hair and the girl with the beaver teeth smashed through the roof on the back of a half blind dragon, Helga Hufflepuff's cup in their hands. He made a note to tell one of the management goblin to use some other security system that doesn't rely on the loyalty of an enclosed animal. 

  
Hagrid drew himself up proudly as he handed his gold key over to the Goblin teller. Harry's eyes fixed on it immediately, a hundred different scenarios of how to get the bloody thing from Hagrid’s control rushed through his mind: the wildest being where dancing house-elves twerked in pink tutus and force fed the half-giant a gallon of Amortentia and whilst they were having their wicked way with him, Harry filched his key back. Luckily – or maybe unluckily for his sadistic sense of humour – it didn't come to that. The goblin caught his hungry gaze and smirked briefly, checking the key and then discreetly sliding it over to Harry when Hagrid was staring over at the other side of the room. He returned the smirk before settling his expression into one of childish excitement that had even the goblin acknowledging his fantastic acting skills.

“Hagrid, did you say something about a cart ride?” 

  
Hagrid turned green before resignedly trudging after an almost skipping Harry and the terribly amused goblin. 

  
The cart ride was as adrenaline inducing as ever and with a wild grin and equally wild hair, Harry took his gold, taking an appreciative second to take in his overflowing vault, before turning to the idle goblin. 

  
“This is just my trust vault?” 

  
“Yes, sir.” 

  
“Do you know if my mum and dad's wands were ever put in the family vault?” 

  
The goblin paused. “I believe Mr and Mrs Potter's wands are indeed in the family vault...” 

  
“As the only remaining Potter, I have full control over the family vaults, don't I? So, their wands will be accessible for me?” 

  
“As one of our laws states, yes, as the last living member of your house, you can seize full control of the Potter wealth.” The goblin slowly grinned: a thing with one too many sharp teeth. “My, my Mr Potter.” He slowly drawled, “I do believe business with you will be most interesting.”

  
“I should hope so. Only men with no sense of style are predictable. Please arrange a meeting with the Potter account manager for my fifteenth birthday. We shall discuss my affairs then. Oh, and could you speed the cart up a bit?” 

  
The goblin feigned innocence, but Harry caught the glint in his eyes. 

  
The cart went speeding towards ground level at breakneck speed. When they got off, Hagrid pirouetted on the spot and puked all over the marble floors. 

  
The goblin chortled as he swaggered back over to his desk. 

* * *

Hagrid, decidedly better but liable to hurl if he moved too fast, staggered back to The Leaky Cauldron after the thrilling – _well_ , for Harry at least – cart ride, leaving Harry to shop by himself. He didn’t mind at all. 

  
And so, after officially ditching his escort, Harry wandered around the Alley, pausing to stare longingly at the coruscate Nimbus and professional-looking black and silver Quidditch robes, before he yanked his eyes away and methodically bought his school supplies. 

  
Flourish & Blotts was packed. It took Harry an age just to get to the section boldly labelled, ‘ _Hogwarts – First Years_ ’ and even then, he had to wait impatiently in a queue of loudly clucking women, irate men and clearly bored children. He purchased all them and sought refuge in one of the deserted isles containing obscure books, many of the titles blank and dusty. Just before he was about to flee in fear of being _trampled_ – oh, how he _hated_ shopping during rush hour – he spotted a thick book on Occlumency ( _Shielding Secrets: A Guide to Protecting the Mind)_ and hastily paid for that before bolting from the infernal shop like it was on fire. 

  
The Apothecary was pure mayhem. Where Flourish & Blotts was crowded and heated, the Apothecary was pretty much empty. It would have been fine, apart from the fact the minute he stepped through the threshold, his nose was bombarded by the stench of what could have been _troll_ piss. He couldn't even put up a bubble-head charm without raising questions... and he didn't have his wand yet. The powdered asphodel and diced moly leaves were impetuously bought and then he was hurrying out the shop and breathing in fresh air like he couldn't get enough. 

  
Thankfully, the luggage shop was much pleasanter than the previous two. Leather and the sort of freshness only a new bag could have, gently greeted his senses and the small, eccentric witch with a large trainee badge on her shirt exceeded both the cramped bookshop and disgusting Apothecary. She repeated the same thing several times before a tired-looking wizard marched over, shoved her away and properly described all the trunks available. Harry left the shop with an amused tilt to his lips, an ebony trunk with his initials engraved in silver, complete with strong anti-theft charms, shrinking charms and a small compartment big enough to hold a small animal, and a bottomless backpack with green vines the exact shade of his eyes. 

  
He wandered the Alley around one o'clock sucking on an acid pop and shivering every time the sugar ran down his throat. 

  
The list grew shorter and shorter the more shops he visited until, heart throbbing painfully in his chest, he stood outside Magical Menagerie. 

  
Squeaks and hoots drowned him for a second before he shook his head and swallowed, looking around the crammed room at all the different animals. Kneazles lounged lazily in their cages, mice chittered noisily as they chased each other and... owls hooted on their perches. 

  
And there, right there, watching him, was Hedwig. 

  
She spread her wings and looked at him with intelligent amber eyes before soaring over to his outstretched arm and curling her talons around him. Harry closed his eyes as she nuzzled her head into his neck and hooted softly. He stroked her feathers just as she liked it and when she looked up again, there was recognition _shining_ in her eyes. “Hello, girl. I missed you.” 

  
She bit his finger lightly, a show of rare affection, before she ruffled her wings and screeched. 

  
“All right, all right. Let me pay and then we'll go.” 

  
The witch by the counter blinked when he approached, eyes flickering between the proud-looking Hedwig and Harry who was stroking her feathers. “Oh- er- right, well, that'll be – um – three galleons.” 

  
Harry paid and when he left the shop, his heart felt far lighter than it had in years. 

* * *

Still floating on air from being accepted by Hedwig once more, Harry didn't realise why he had been subconsciously putting off Madam Malkin's until he saw who else was being fitted. 

  
Draco _fucking_ Malfoy. 

  
“Hogwarts too, dear?” 

  
At Harry's distracted nod, she smiled kindly as ushered him up to the stool next to _Malfoy_ – _Draco -_ Harry had no idea what to call him – as Harry evaluated the actions he could take. 

  
Did he decline his hand in friendship – literally – and let the childish insults and hexing start again like one continuous loop, or did he shake the hand and become pals with the one boy that had constantly embarrassed Ron for his lack of money, and him for his parents’ deaths? _Well_ , he reminded himself, _technically Malfoy hadn't hexed or insulted anybody yet. He can't be held accountable for crimes he had yet to commit._

  
Harry glanced at Malfoy again and this time, his mind assessed everything for him.   
He was still all pointy chins and sharp angles, but that shadow he had had ever since sixth year was absent. His hair was so blonde it was almost white and his eyes-

  
 _Liquid mercury,_ his mind quipped unhelpfully. 

  
-were bright with self-consciousness under the surface. 

  
For the first time, Harry didn't see _Malfoy_ , the evil git that had caved to pressure. 

  
He saw _Draco_ , the child drowned in expectations. _The boy who had no choice._

  
Images shone in front of his eyes unwillingly and Harry watched. 

  
A boy, almost skeletal, on the Astronomy Tower, shaking wand trained on a wizened old wizard that was exposing his doubts like it was nothing more than mindless chat about the weather. Drawing his sleeve up to reveal the lurid skull with a snake slithering from the mouth, and brokenly crying, _“I have to do this! I have to kill you... or he's going to kill me,”_ like he wished nothing more than to switch places with the wizard on the of the tower. 

  
Faster now, a pale boy – almost a man – crying in the bathroom, bony shoulders shaking with the force of the world. Terrified grey eyes like storm clouds quietly whispering, “ _I can't be sure_ ,” as the Dark Lord's enemy kneeled in front of him. Thin arms wrapped tightly around his waist as white-hot flames roared behind them. 

  
_Draco Malfoy._

  
And so, when he spoke, Harry listened. 

  
There was that same drawling voice and haughty sneer, but there was an undertone of interest, of longing for a proper friend. Harry didn't think pureblood heirs like him were allowed true friends. 

  
“Hullo. Hogwarts too?” 

  
Harry smiled. “Yeah.” 

  
“My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street waiting at Olivander’s. Then I'll drag them off to look at the new Nimbus. I don't see why first years aren't allowed their own. I think I'll bully father into letting me smuggle it in somehow.” 

  
_Oh yeah,_ Harry thought _, the day you manage to bully your father into anything will be the day I shag a tree._

  
“Have you got your own broom?” 

  
“Not yet.” 

  
“Play Quidditch?” 

  
“Seeker, you?” 

  
That threw Malfoy off his game.

  
“I- yes. Yes, I play seeker too but I prefer chaser- only father thinks I should play seeker-" he cut himself off, looking mortified. 

  
“That's cool. My dad was chaser at school. It drove my mum mental. Know what house you'll be in yet?” Harry added, tossing him a lifeline which Malfoy swallowed gratefully. 

  
“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?”

  
“No,” Harry said mildly, “Hufflepuff's just as honourable as the rest of ‘em. I knew quite a few Hufflepuff’s that were more cunning than the best Slytherin. My parents were in Gryffindor- I think most of my family has been, really. Well, perhaps a few Ravenclaws but never any Slytherins. I'll probably break the tradition to be honest. It's the sort of thing I do.” 

  
Malfoy turned to look at him, running his eyes over Harry’s large clothes, but pausing on his tall height, sharp jaw and vivid emerald eyes. 

  
“Oh-" Harry called out to Madam Malkin. “I’d like a new wardrobe as well, please. I can pay.” 

  
Malfoy hesitated before nodding to himself and holding out his hand.

“Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” 

  
Harry’s lips curled into a smile; a movement Malfoy's eyes tracked before quickly looking away. 

  
Once again, a scene flashed before his eyes. An unsuspecting hand held out innocently, a simple offer of friendship that was so carelessly declined. _“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself thanks-"_

  
But the difference between then and now, was the way Harry's lightly tanned hand took Malfoy's pale one and he grinned that charming grin that was a combination of Sirius' roguish smile, James' crooked grin and Remus’ small but true flick of the lips.

A flush rose up Malfoy's neck. 

  
“Harry Potter.” 

  
Ad that was that. 

* * *

“Father!” Malfoy – Draco – said excitedly, “This is Harry, Harry Potter! My new friend!" 

Mr Malfoy smiled at Draco indulgently, running assessing eyes over Harry's new artful wizarding robes. He nodded approvingly, holding a gloved hand. 

"Lovely to meet you, Mr Potter. We've heard a lot about you." 

Harry smiled back, separating the man smiling - _smiling_! - at him with the conceding blonde that locked his best friend in their dungeons. 

"Nice to meet you too Mr Malfoy. Draco tells me you have a garden full of peacocks?" 

Mr Malfoy's smile widened. "A Malfoy family tradition, Mr Potter. Very prideful creatures. My grandfather, Septimius, introduced them and they've stayed ever since."

Draco looked to be stifling a laugh. A story for another day, then.

"Have you a wand yet, Mr Potter? My wife should be waiting for us?" 

"Oh, I was going to Ollivander's next." 

"Perfect," he said with a glint in his eye.

* * *

The bell chimed softly as the mellowing door was pushed open. 

  
Mr Malfoy seemed on edge as they met with Mrs Malfoy. She, on the other hand, was smiling fondly down at Draco who seemed a second away from combusting in excitement.  
  


Nobody spoke. A hush like they were in a quiet library settled over them all.   
  


Olivander popped out from behind the shelf. 

  
Mr and Mrs Malfoy twitched. Draco grinned hugely, bouncing on the tips of his toes. 

  
Harry leant against the wall and raised an eyebrow in an mimic of Mr Malfoy. 

  
The old wandmaker’s eyes were fixed on him, unnerving pale blue eyes observing him deeply. Seconds passed. Olivander beamed. “Mr Potter! Great to see you again!” 

  
Harry's eyes widened before he realised Olivander knew. Knew he had already lived his life. Knew he had saved some version of him from a dungeon. Knew, knew, _knew._

  
“Brilliant to see you're in good health, Mr Olivander.” 

  
“Just fine! Just fine!" He paused, brow creasing in confusion before his expression lightened and his head inclined in recognition, “It had served you well... incredibly well. I had never seen such a bond between a wizard and a wand before. You must still want it sometimes...” 

  
It was stupid, Harry knew, to get so melancholy over a wand of all things, but his was undeniably special.   
  


"Yes. Yes I do. Can I hold it?"

  
Mr Malfoy looked momentarily confused, but reluctantly fascinated. 

  
Olivander fixed him with a look of understanding. He nodded once and retreated to a shelf on the far wall, returning with a dusty black box. “Holy and Phoenix Feather, eleven inches.” 

  
Blinking, he took it gently in hand. 

  
It responded to him just as he knew it would, but it was no longer danced with his magic and vibrated in his hand. It connected with, not his power, but his soul, because no matter what tie he wore and what name he adopted, he would always be Harry Potter: the boy that entered the Chamber of Secrets not knowing if he'd ever see the stars again, for the sole reason to save Ginny Weasley at any cost whether that be his life or not. It hurt, to hold the familiar length and not feel the magic exploding in his veins and the elation tugging at his heart. 

  
His head bowed in remembrance to the wand that served him so loyally and at once it answered. 

  
Memories poured into his mind and a soft, trilling song – so very like the one Fawkes had sung at Dumbledore's funeral – tinkled in his ear. 

  
There was him, younger but no less weak, holding his wand like to let go was to submit, and battling furiously. Spells flew from his lips and enemies crumbled as jets of red, purple and blue collided with them. The veil fluttered in the background and Bellatrix cackled. 

  
The Holy wood fell from his numb fingers and hit the floor with a clatter that boomed louder than an atomic bomb in the ringing silence.

  
His head bowed and when he lifted it, his eyes were clouded, like a full moon shrouded by a cloak of stars. 

  
He placed the wand back and took cover in the safety of the shadows, an odd grating in his heart. A crack in his soul.

  
Mr and Mrs Malfoy were sharing looks of bewilderment but strangely, Draco seemed to have some form of understanding. His eyes were shining as they locked on him and Harry watched as his enemy-turned-friend tried wand after wand. 

  
“Hawthorne.” Harry said quietly. “Dragon Heartstring, twelve inches. Perfect for intricate spell-work.”

  
Draco froze, Mr Malfoy inclined his head slowly.   
  


Olivander nodded thoughtfully and went to look for it.  
  


"A strange wand of mine. Hawthorne is a wand for a wizard unsure but strong. A perfect wand for young Mr Malfoy."  
  


He held it out for Draco, and said boy took it in one firm grasp. 

  
He bought the wand swishing down and a canon-blast of silver and green sparks burst from it, sparking harmlessly against the wooden floor. Mrs Malfoy clapped delightedly and even Mr Malfoy smiled proudly. Harry smiled when Draco turned to look at him, clutching his wand to his chest and marvelling at it like it was the sole centre of his universe. 

  
“Now, Mr Potter... We may be here a while. You have seen too much for a unicorn wand to choose you. I do not believe Dragon Heartstring will be pleased that you bested one of their own-"

Harry cracked a smile,

"-and a phoenix feather... well, I don't think you are matched anymore. There... is one that my great grandfather made. It has never chosen an owner before."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Olivander placed a box on the counter and pulled the lid off. 

  
A thin shaft of pale wood lay on the plush cushion, winding vines of white curling like coils around it, tiny runes etched onto the handle and spiralling to the tip. From what he remembered from Hermione's rune crash-course in the middle of the Forest of Dean, he recognised the symbols for power and strength and rebirth and intelligence. The core, whatever it was, wrapped around his magic like a mother's embrace, soft and protective yet fierce and strong. Just like him. 

It felt like _his_. And so he took it. 

A cantering thestral burst from the tip, leathery skin and milky eyes latching onto him before the wings fluttered and the head bowed. Power danced through his veins as ecstasy made his limbs tremble. The thestral slowly faded into the shadows as his magic settled back around him like a cloak. 

The fog was lifting, the haze in his mind disparaging without a trace. The power settled yet it still sang. A wondrous feeling that he wished to cling to. 

  
He blinked. 

  
The wand came swishing down, a sharp tear like lightning resounding around the room. Dark sparks of black like the night sky burst from the wand as blinding yellow sparks tumbled out as well. It was like watching the stars fall from the sky and the shadows leap from their hiding places. It was dark and light, black and white, good and evil. It was both because to be evil was to be nice and to be nice was to be evil.

  
Harry looked at the winding thread glowing from within the wand and smiled. 

  
“Rowan, Thestral Tail Hair, thirteen inches. A wand that has close ties to death, Mr Potter, and known for being fiercely protective but always winning duels out of sheer stubborness.” Ollivander paused, a sad and distant look in his eyes before he focused, "We'll meet again in two years, Mr Potter. You'll be wanting a new wand." 

Mr Malfoy startled, a crease lining his brow. Rowan woods were known to be for the pure-hearted and never for the Dark Arts. No Dark Wizard had ever had a rowan wand and Harry... was apparently going to be needing a new one summer after Second Year. He swallowed. 

Mrs Malfoy smiled kindly at him, a warmer look in her eye. Sharing your wand core with someone else was a show of absolute trust. 

  
Mr Malfoy was watching him as they left but Draco stayed close to him, acting as if nothing unusual had happened as he bought up Quidditch teams, starting a long argument about whether the Falmouth Falcons or Holyhead Harpies were better. Harry vehemently protested for the Harpies as their laughter rang down the cobbled street. 

  
It didn't matter that it was _Malfoy_ , the ferret that used to insult him: it only mattered that this was _Draco_ , an eleven-year-old boy innocent of all his future crimes. 

  
And as Harry lay awake in the tenebrous shadows of his cupboard that night, he held his wand as he dreamt, the stars shining in the night sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29\. 01. 2021
> 
> I've altered the wand scene because I changed the first meeting between Harry and the Malfoys. I've also changed Harry's wand wood. You'll begin to see soon.


	6. In Which Harry Makes Friends and Comes Home Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

_With you I want_

_To taste tommorow._

_I want the seasons_

_To collide._

* * *

Steam billowed from the scarlet train, not a fleck of paint out of place. It looked like a story book picture in his eyes: a scene to be captured in time and revised forever. It was perfect. Only entrancing that thought when he imagined where the train would take him.

  
Molly Weasley was scrubbing at Ron's dirty nose as Fred and George teased Percy and his prefect badge. Neville Longbottom was telling his grandmother he'd lost Trevor again, (“Oh no! Not _again,_ Neville!") and a small crowd of Gryffindors were peering at Lee Jordan's tarantula. 

  
A great smile lit up Harry's lips like flames as he realised he was on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, a magical area, and therefore allowed to use magic again. Just for the sake of it, he pulled out his new Cherry wand and tapped the edges of his cracked spectacles. “Oculus Reparo,” he muttered, and his glasses mended seamlessly. 

  
He grinned and swished it over his trunk, shrinking it effectively. He took one last look at the happy families and annoyed familiars, before seizing his trunk and heading to find an empty compartment. He paused just by the one he and Ron Weasley had met in all those lifetimes ago, and a heavy fist settled over his heart. He and Ron. He and his best friend. _Ron Weasley_ that had looked the White Queen in her stony eyes and made the decision to sacrifice himself. _Ron Weasley_ that had persevered during countless Quidditch matches when the Slytherins were so cruelly singing Weasley is Our King. 

  
_Ron Weasley._

  
And so, Harry turned away from the compartment. Away from red hair and freckles. Away from tottering houses and warm laughter. Away from his old best friend. 

  
Perhaps it was the hardest thing he had yet to do, and that included buying Hedwig and glimpsing a very much alive Cedric Diggory. But no, he wasn't _Just Harry_ anymore. He wasn't the boy that had hid his scar and shied away from the fame. He was Harry Potter now. Harry Potter that had snuck back to Diagon Alley mid-August and got his hair cut so his fringe vanished and his signature Potter birds-nest looked stylishly messy. He couldn't find it in himself to dump the glasses though. They were very much a part of him. He'd been tempted to get his ears pierced like Bill Weasley, but seeing as it was a fleeting fantasy, he told himself he'd get it done at thirteen if he still wanted it.

  
Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Harry strode quickly down the corridor and dumped his stuff in the nearest empty one, stealing a glance out of the window before pulling out ‘ _So you think you've mastered Occlumency?’._

  
Amongst all of the Hermione-like hording he'd done with his textbooks, he'd only managed to get his hands on two decent books. Luckily, after a solid two weeks of sitting on his new bed in Dudley's second bedroom – which his Aunt and Uncle had so _graciously_ offered – he could amply shield his mind from any nosy Legilimens. He wasn't perfect but then again, he never had been one for hiding his emotions. He’d need it though. Slytherins always were snarky bastards- 

  
_And there it was._

  
It was like some part of his mind had already decided where he was going and another part was vehemently protesting. One part was Gryffindor gold and red, the other Slytherin silver and green. It got annoying rather quickly. 

  
_‘Mind shields are rather fickle things. Some wizards prefer solid stone walls, whereas others favour luscious forests and endless tranquillity. Specialised mind-healers always say that one's mindscape is an embodiment of yourselves. Emotional, hot-headed wizards have more difficulty mastering Occlumency than carefully controlled wizards. That is too be expected, especially when emotions fuel magic and magic fuels intent. Solid and imagined physical barriers are the simplest and the easiest to slip past by a trained Legilimens as they always have a weakness. Adeline Grassland, one of the most accomplished Occlumens to walk this earth, had the most unique shield. Using fluid elements, she created her barriers from liquid, therefore making them harder to slip through, and far harder to go undetected within her mind. Now-'_

  
The door flung open with a crash and Harry snapped his book shut and crammed it back into his trunk in one, smooth movement. 

  
Blonde hair and a bright smile greeted him. “Harry! I was looking everywhere for you!” 

  
Harry grinned. “Nice to see you too.” 

  
Draco smiled slightly as he heaved his trunk into the rack overhead. “I had to ditch Pansy and Blaise so they'll probably be along in a minute. Anyway, how was the rest of your summer?” 

  
Since their original meeting in Diagon Alley, Harry had been exchanging letters with Draco. He remembered when he woke up one Monday morning to a large eagle owl screeching in his ear and Vernon hammering angrily on the door. 

  
“Decent. Studied all the textbooks, annoyed my Aunt and Uncle, slept.” 

  
Draco's nose wrinkled. “I can't believe they made _you_ live with _muggles_. If my father heard about this-" 

  
“Draco, darling, your father's probably going round the twist with all the things you tell him.” Pansy Parkinson chose that moment to walk in, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott shortly behind her. 

  
And fuck- Harry's head was getting stuffed with memories and feelings and _fucking hell, why did this keep happening?_

  
A girl with a green and silver tie, a black bob and a pug face pointing a finger at him and shrieking, “ _Potter's right there! Someone grab him!”_ ready to hand him over to the Dark Lor- 

  
_Shut_ the _fuck_ up- 

  
The images ceased abruptly. 

  
Clenching his jaw, Harry smiled, a rather strained thing that no one caught. He had checked the box and it was as tightly sealed as ever, but something was assaulting him with past memories, and it was messing with his _fucking_ head. 

  
Theodore Nott slouched in his seat as he kicked his feet up onto the table, Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes as he shoved them off and sprawled into the seat next to him. Only Parkinson seemed to realise there was another person in the compartment. An odd look passed over her face before it swiped away. “Who is this, Draco?” 

  
Draco opened his mouth, but Harry beat him to it. “Harry Potter. Delighted to make your acquaintance.” 

  
Pansy squinted at him, as if to see if he was mocking her or not, before relaxing and smiling. “Pansy Parkinson.”

She turned to Draco who was hovering nervously. “No need to look so scared, darling. Where ever did you find _Harry Potter?”_

  
And just like that, the tension fell away.   
Zabini – “ _Call me Blaise_ ,” with a wink – was definitely a charmer, inheriting his mother's gifts. Harry would have to watch out for him. Nott – “ _If you want your neck to remain at its angle, you better call me Theo. Nott reminds me of my father,_ ” – was the mischievous one out if the bunch. He spoke his mind, whether that be crude jokes or witty comments. Parkinson – “ _Pansy, darling_ ,” – seemed to rather like sitting back and commenting on random conversations, a sly little smirk on her red lips. 

  
The conversation went from Quidditch - 

  
_“Harry plays seeker-”_

  
_“Really? My dad heard from Archie Scrumgy, who heard from Beatrice Lixen, who hears from Emilia Lasvange-"_

  
_“Seeker? I thought you were a_ keeper _,”_

  
_(They all laughed at that one)_

  
To classes- 

  
_“I don't know about you, but I heard Flint telling Warrington that DADA was being taught by Quirrell this year. Y'know, the Muggle Studies teacher,”_

  
Harry mindfully kept the grimace off his face. 

  
_“Charms? Charms are easy. I'm looking forward to Transfiguration-"_

  
_“-Herbology? What are you? A pansy?”_

  
Pansy had shot Draco a rather filthy look after that. 

  
And finally, to the Sorting. 

  
“I bet you all ten galleons Harry’s in Slytherin.” Draco proclaimed boldly, settling back in his seat looked pleased with himself. 

  
Pansy scoffed. “Please, we all know Pott- sorry, _Harry_ \- is going to be a Gryffindor.” 

  
Blaise shook his head. “Nah. You're both wrong. You seen how many books he has in his trunk? A Ravenclaw right there.” 

  
They all looked expectantly towards Theo who laughed and raised an eyebrow. “I'm not betting Hufflepuff. Anyone can see Potter's the _least_ Hufflepuff Hufflepuff you're ever gonna meet- no offense to the 'Puffs. I’d say Slytherin but Draco's already called it.” 

  
Pansy leaned into his side as the other three boys started an argument about the Potter history and the four Houses. 

  
“Whatever you do, go to Gryffindor, Harry. I couldn't stand it if Draco out-betted me.”

  
Harry grinned at her. “No promises. I'll let the Hat decide.” 

  
_“-every_ Potter has been either a Lion or a Raven! Not a-" 

  
“I'm telling you! Harry’s going to _Slytherin_ , aren't you Harry?” 

  
Blinking like a deer in headlights under the force of Draco's fixed smile and pleading eyes, Blaise’s smirk that promised pain if he was to defect, and Theo's lazy but threatening grin. 

  
“Uh- well- I think I'll- er...” 

  
“Slytherin!” Draco shouted, turning back like nothing happened. 

  
“Ravenclaw!” 

  
“Gryffindor!” came a voice from the door. All five of them turned to see a small girl with frizzy brown hair and pristine school robes standing in the doorway. 

  
For a moment, Harry couldn't breathe. There was Hermione in all her buck-tooth glory, nose in the air and bossy glint in her eyes. His heart faltered on a beat and he gripped the seat to remind himself that _yes_ , this was really happening, and _no,_ this wasn't his best friend. His teeth ground together almost violently before he pulled himself out if it. 

  
“Well, that's the best house anyway according to Hogwarts Through the Centuries. Apparently, Merlin himself was a Gryff-" 

  
“No,” Harry cut in with a sharp tone, an odd defensiveness rising within him. For what, he wasn't sure. “Merlin was a Slytherin.” 

  
Hermione blinked. “No!” she argued back fiercely and Harry could just tell she was irritated at the thought of a book being wrong.

“It clearly says that Merlin was a Gryffindor! Why would such a great wizard be a Slytherin? Everyone knows that Slytherin turns out all of the bad witches and wizards.” 

  
The other four quietened suddenly and Harry rose to his feet, a slight curl to his lips and a fiery gleam in his eyes. “Slytherin only gained its reputation for being dark when Lord Voldemort-" He mindfully ignored the gasps, "-was sorted there. You can't automatically label anyone who gets put there as evil when they're only eleven years old based on a few personality traits. And anyways, you've just gravely insulted myself and my friends. I rather think you've overstayed your welcome. Goodbye, Hermione Granger.” 

  
She gaped at him as he slammed the door in her face. In a way, he was shocked at himself. That was Hermione, his _best friend-_

  
No. Not his best friend. _Was_ his best friend. 

  
Scowling, Harry sank back into his seat, only just registering the silence. 

  
“Harry?” Draco asked tentatively, scooting towards him. “Alright?” 

  
“I'm such a Slytherin!” groaned Harry, “I get annoyed at one ignorant muggle-born and suddenly I feel like a- like a _Slytherin_!” 

  
Blaise laughed quietly. “How did you know her name?” 

  
“She-" Harry sighed to himself. “She'll be back with Neville Longbottom in a minute asking about a toad.” 

  
Theo nodded slowly, the silence lingering between them all before Draco sat bolt upright with a triumphant yell. “Slytherin! See! I _told_ you, Zabini!” 

  
Pansy moaned as she buried her head in her hands, Draco and Blaise staring their mindless argument again. 

* * *

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost- Oh! It's you!” 

  
Harry tried to bury himself back into his book with little success. 

  
“Oh, what's that you're reading? I've read all our textbooks – and memorized them! What's your name by the way?” 

  
Theo muttered something to Blaise who smirked.

  
“Harry Potter. Utterly _delighted_ to see you again, Granger.” 

  
“Potter? Harry Potter? Oh, I've read all about you! Did you know you're in-?”

  
“ _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts?_ ” Pansy chimed. 

  
“ _Magical Modern History_?” Draco quipped. 

  
“ _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century?_ ” Theo drawled dryly. 

  
Hermione blinked in surprise. “Yes, and in-" 

  
“We don't care.” Blaise droned bluntly. “We haven't seen a toad or a cat or anything, alright? Now go bother someone else.” 

  
Hermione bristled indignantly before paused, frowning at Harry. “How did you know my name? I never introduced myself.” 

  
_Well_ , Harry thought, _time to take a leaf out of Dumbledore's book. The cryptic bastard._

  
“I know many things. See you at Hogwarts.” 

  
Still frowning and scowling, Hermione retreated, leaving Theo to fall into hysterics for no reason, Pansy to sigh loudly every time Blaise went, “ _Has anyone seen a toad_?” in an asinine, mocking voice, and Draco to join in occasionally but watch Harry. Said boy could literally fell the stare on him. 

  
Staring out the window and watching the countryside’s roll leisurely past, Harry wondered if by the end of the year, he'd still have even a shard of _Just Harry_ left in him. 

* * *

“Firs' Years! Firs’ Years this way! Alright there Harry?” 

  
Harry smiled slightly into the darkness as he looked up at Hagrid’s bright beam. 

  
“I'm alright Hagrid.” 

  
He nodded, and whistling slightly, led all the First Years towards the boats docked by the edge of the lake.

  
“You know him?” Draco murmured in his ear. 

  
Harry shoved aside the odd coiling in his stomach when his breath ghosted his ears. 

  
“Yeah: helped me get to Diagon.” 

  
Draco hummed, a spark in his silver eyes. 

  
Blaise suddenly pushed Theo down the hill, making him trip and land face first in the wet mud. He laughed loudly as Theo sprung back to his feet and lunged at him, smothering him in mud. Hagrid looked aghast as their Hogwarts robes were smeared in dirt. “Break it up! C'mon now, boys!” 

  
Still laughing, the two broke apart. Mud was clumped in Blaise’s dark hair but Theo was much worse. Pansy was sighing and muttering about how they were ‘ _such commoners. Honestly, people will start thinking you were both raised in a pigsty’_ and Draco was grinning slightly from beside Harry. 

  
It was nice to have friends again, Harry thought plaintively. To have people that would laugh and joke and not fuss about schoolwork and chess games. He felt like he was separating from himself because deep down he knew that he, Ron and Hermione would never have the bond they had once shared. Draco wasn't a complete git like Harry had convinced himself he was; he was witty and pouty and just _Draco_ that Harry couldn't help but grow attached. It was Draco who had the liquid mercury eyes and the secret desire to ride a dragon one day. It was Draco who had revealed that he wanted to be a fiendfyre fighter when he was old enough, but his father would never let him because it wasn't considered proper. 

  
“No more than four ter a boat!”

  
_Draco, Draco, Draco._

  
“Harry?” 

  
“Yeah?” 

  
“We'll always be friends, right? Even if you're a Gryffindor?” 

  
Smiling slightly, Harry nudged his shoulder. “Hey, what about the bet? I can't let Pansy win, can I?” 

  
“No... I suppose you can't,” and when Draco's looking at him like that, with the stars reflecting diamonds in his eyes, Harry can't help but wish for a bright future with him by his side. Can't help but hope that they'll always remain friends, even when the darkness grows to deep and they're both being pulled in opposite directions. He looked at Blaise and Theo, still snickering at each other, and his heart thumped loudly in his chest at the thought of such a pure friendship being torn apart. But for now, he smiled like that was what he born to do, and sat in the boat with the other three boys and Pansy throwing them all envious looks as she slouched in with a dark-haired girl, Crabbe and Goyle. 

  
The boats shot forward and Draco gave a wondrous gasp as they sailed through the water like it was glass. Harry let his fingers trail gently in the water, not even flinching when an icy tentacle wrapped hesitantly around it. Theo gaped and Harry winked. 

  
“Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid yelled as he pointed his pink umbrella ahead. 

  
Pansy’s shrill shriek was washed out with multiple others as the giant squid decided to show himself. In a whirl of violet tentacles and orange eyes, it shattered the still illusion of the calm lake as it emerged, showering every occupant with the shadowed water. Well, everyone but Harry who seemed impervious. 

  
At Draco's panicked look and Blaise’s utterly terrified one, Harry grinned and turned to the giant squid, offering a hand. With wide eyes, the squid wrapped a tentacle around his arm and garbled something incoherent. A crease between his eyebrows, Harry drew his wand.

Instantly, another tentacle coiled around it. The squid rippled like jelly, and with a final gurgle, sunk back into the lake, releasing both him and his wand. A stunned silence followed before it was broken by a gasp as Hogwarts finally came into view. 

  
Immediately, all thoughts about a squid and a dark-haired, emerald-eyed boy disappeared as tall turrets and lit windows filled the view. 

  
Harry stared and stared and stared because _there it was_. There was Hogwarts in all its stone glory, not a heap of debris and damaged corridors, but a whole castle with magic and wonder and- _oh dear merlin, this is fucking real._ Reality came crashing down on him and for a second, just a second, he wished to be back in his mother's caring embrace with a stag bounding around them and love surrounding them in a bubble. But no: his parents were dead. Dead, dead, _dead_. _So fucking dead_ it ached like a wound that would never heal. 

  
All too soon he was being pushed back into actuality with Draco smiling so much it must hurt and Theo grinning like right here was where he should of always been. Pansy joined them as they all climbed out of the boats and followed Hagrid in a messy bundle up to the castle. 

  
“I can't believe we're here...” Pansy whispered in awe; her brown eyes incredibly wide in childish excitement. Harry liked to believe that's what he looked like when he first saw Hogwarts for the for the first time, but now it’s just an explosion of - _wonder-sadness-joy-relief-_ because his home was tainted by death and the grief-filled screams of the survivors. 

  
The doors were pushed open by Hagrid and all at once, he saw the old tapestries and warm stone walls and- _fuck, too soon too soon-_

  
But then the magic is soothing him and McGonagall is peering down at them with pursed lips and strict eyes and all he can feel is home. 

  
_Home._

  
_Welcome home,_ Hogwarts breathed to his soul and Harry listened. 

  
_Home_. 

  
It was nice to be home. 

  
_At last._


	7. In Which The Sorting Hat Makes Harry Choose Between Bravery or Ambition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that"

_When your eyes_

_Met mine,_

_My soul pointed at you_

_And whispered_

_to my heart,_

_'Him...'_

* * *

“The Firs' Years, Professor McGonagall.” 

  
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” 

  
Still, after all these years, McGonagall’s the only one that could make him feel like a child caught red-handed. Perhaps it was the slightly narrowed eyes or the tight lips that share resemblance to her Animagus form, or maybe the raised eyebrow and stern features. Harry was sure, as he looked up at her wrinkled but strict face, that if Minerva McGonagall was to walk onto the battlefield with the Dark Lord, she'd be victorious by sending him just one of her furious glares that could bring any powerful wizard to his knees. 

  
The blond beside him was practically vibrating where he stood but trying (and failing) to play it off coolly. Harry barely noticed, because he was staring at McGonagall, brave, _brave_ , McGonagall that stood up to Amycus Carrow when she dared suggest that she'd harm her students. McGonagall that Harry cast an Unforgivable for.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and swallowing, he looked away. He's told himself he won't think of his past, of the life he once lead, but when he was confronting it, when he was being forced to look it in the eye and emerge triumphant, it seemed like a much more abundant task. But it didn't matter. He shoved it aside as he always did with his problems, and promised himself he'd sort it out later. 

  
Almost robotically, he followed the gaggle of First Years to that same antechamber that he had been declared officially, the Fourth Champion. Memories stirred almost eagerly in his head before he brutally repressed them. They'll remerge in his dreams later, but anything's better than having to fight his own head in consciousness. 

  
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, looking down at them all over her glasses, "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts-" He had to refrain from snorting because Gryffindor wasn't much of a _family_ when his name came shooting out of those red flames and he was entered into a tournament with a higher death-toll than any other. “You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Once again, her sharp eyes lingered on Neville - and- _oh dear merlin. Was Neville always that small and chubby? –_ and his lopsided cloak, and Ron’s – Harry’s stomach twisted - dirt-smeared nose. Draco's nose twitched like a rabbit - Harry pointedly ignored the part of his mind that said it was _cute_ \- as he hurriedly whispered to him, “Does my hair look alright? Mother said I've got to look perfect and Malfoys always look perfect and father said that Malfoys always look proper and-" 

“Draco,” he smiled softly, “You look fine.” 

  
A blush dusted his pale cheeks before he smiled too. “’ _Fine_ ' isn't good enough, Potter. And anyway, what about _your_ hair? You look like you just woke up!" 

_Just been shagged more like it._

“Have you seen my hair normal? I look absolutely horrid. Trust me, it's better like this.” 

  
Draco _humphed_ , but before he could reply, several people screamed. 

  
The ghosts came floating through the door, the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick in a discussion about Peeves (“Forgive and forget, I say-”) only to stop as they caught sight of the First Years... or specifically, Harry. Nick's retort faded as his ghostly eyes flicked from him to the pocket he was keeping his wand in. All the other ghosts have stopped to stare too and he could see the Grey Lady looking even paler than a ghost could and the Bloody Baron not saying anything – as usual – but watching - _always_ watching – the wand that seemed to be burning a hole in Harry's robes. 

  
They were silent for another heartbeat, until the Friar coughed and said, “New students, I presume? About to be sorted?” 

  
A few brave souls- definitely the future Gryffindors – nodded. The Friar smiled, but his eyes kept flickering back over to Harry. “Well, I hope to see you in my old house. Hufflepuff, you know?” 

  
But they're _all_ still _staring_ \- 

  
And _what_ is the _fucking_ deal with his _fucking_ wand? 

  
“Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.” 

  
_Thank_ fuck _for Minerva McGonagall._

  
She shepherded them all into the Great Hall, and thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed the ghost’s reactions, but then that gets pushed to the side as dead bodies line the floors. Screams echo in his ear and he wondered why no one else could see it. Why no one else could see the limp bodies and departer souls. Blood- so much blood- but no. It's not a war. Fred and Remus and Tonks aren't lying there with glassy eyes and seeping wounds. He's Harry James Potter of 1991, about to be sorted and Draco Malfoy's friend. His suddenly pale face and gaunt eyes go unnoticed in the crowd of the other nervous, ill-looking First Years. 

The war still haunts him, still lingers on his mind like the eerie silence of the night. 

  
Draco's legs are trembling slightly as he walked forward. Harry shook his head free from the morose thoughts and frowned. “Draco... you know we'll always be friends with you whatever the colour of your tie is, right? And I'm sure your dad would forgive you if you went to Gryff-" 

  
“ _Don't_ finish that sentence! _Merlin_... _me_ , a _Gryffindor_? I wouldn't be caught _dead_ in those horrid shades of red and gold anyway!"

  
Draco was so caught up in his disgust, he didn't realise his legs had ceased trembling until Harry smiled at him, unable to stop the brief curl of affection that stirred in his heart.   
Hermione was whispering rapidly under her breath all the spells she'd learnt – Harry remembered when he thought that impressive, but when he listened to the knowledge she was rattling, he realised all the spells she knew paled in comparison to his wide arsenal of hexes, jinxes and the odd curse or two - before she caught sight of the ceiling and said loudly, “It's bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.” 

  
No one listened anyway because they were all watching McGonagall place an old, ragged hat with a good need for a stitching charm on a three-legged stool. The chatter from the older years fell away as they all stared expectantly at the hat. The First Years - minus Harry – all shared bewildered looks. Well, until the hat opened its mouth – brim? – and started singing. 

  
‘ _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat than me._  
_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
_And I can cap them all._  
_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
_So try me on and I will tell you_  
_Where you ought to be._  
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_ _Set Gryffindors apart;_  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil;_  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_if you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
_Will always find their kind;_  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
_Those cunning folk use any means_  
_To achieve their ends._  
_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. Harry grinned at the startled expression on Pansy's face before he clapped just as enthusiastically as everyone else. Blaise and Theo were whispering to each other off to the side, matching sly smirks on their faces as they glanced between Harry and then the Sorting Hat. Rolling his eyes, he pretended he didn't notice the small pile of galleons being tinkled around in their pockets. 

  
“Now, when I call your names, you will each sit on the stool and wait to be sorted.”

McGonagall cleared her throat and unravelled the scroll in her hands. 

  
“Abbott, Hannah!” 

  
Small Hannah Abbott shuffled nervously up to the hat, and in seconds, her house was being declared. 

  
_“Hufflepuff!”_

  
The yellow and black table clapped and cheered as the girl with the pigtails and round eyes took her place. 

  
“Bones, Susan!” 

  
The hat stayed on her head a second longer than it did for Hannah, before it was shouting, _“Hufflepuff!”_

“Boot Terry!” 

  
A drawn-out pause- 

  
_“Ravenclaw!”_

  
This time, the table on the middle right clapped as the Raven on the house banner spread its wings in greeting. 

  
‘Brocklehurst, Mandy’ went to Ravenclaw too, but ‘Brown, Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harry winced as he remembered Ron and Lavender's many snogs at the Gryffindor table far too early in the morning. He still carried the trauma. 

  
Millicent Bullstrode became the first new Slytherin, and the table decked in emerald and green clapped. 

  
Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley both took a few seconds to sort - Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively - until McGonagall called, “Granger, Hermione!” 

  
Hermione bounced up to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly onto her head. She took the longest yet, and Harry noticed the way her face screwed up as if arguing before smiling in relief as the hat shouted a reluctant sort of, _“Gryffindor!”_

  
He spaced out of the Sorting entirely until Neville was called. The poor boy looked almost jittery with nerves as he shakily put the hat on his head. He sat there for far longer than anyone else had so far, but in the end, he was finally sorted. 

  
_“Gryffindor!”_

  
Someone called MacDougal had their turn, and then it was Draco. 

  
“Malfoy, Draco!” 

  
He flinched violently, but Harry, channelling his inner Gryffindor, slipped his hand into Draco's for just a moment before letting go. Draco made an odd sorting choking sound before he set his shoulders and stuck his nose in the air and swaggered up to the hat. Harry tried to forget the way his hand tingled. 

  
Almost immediately, the hat practically screamed, _“Slytherin!”_ and Draco smiled back at him as his tie turned green and he slotted into place at the table on the far right. 

  
Theo was next, and with one last long look at Blaise, Pansy and him standing together and smiling at him, slipped the hat onto his head. A delayed second later and he was being proclaimed, _“Slytherin!”_

  
“Parkinson, Pansy!” 

  
She gave him and Blaise a wobbly sort of smile before walking to the hat and with trembling fingers, let it obscure her vision. Pansy took half a minute under the hat before she became a Slytherin and it was Harry next out of him and Blaise. 

  
Paravati and Padma Patil, then Sally-Anne Perks and Freya Moon... 

  
Finally, “Potter, Harry!” 

  
Every table exploded into hushed whispers as he stepped forward, back straight and chin lifted, lightning bolt scar peeking out from behind a stray curl of hair. He put the hat on, last thing he saw, Draco's thumbs up, Pansy's reassuring tilt to the lips and Theo's lazy grin. 

  
“My my, Mr Potter. What a mind. It's not every day I sort someone I've already sorted. Hmm yes... I was right in what I said last time: _‘Plenty of courage, not a bad mind either and a thirst to prove yourself’_ but this time, I know exactly where to put you. Gryffindor was never your house. I always said you'd do well in Slytherin. It still wishes to help you achieve wonderous things; you know.” 

  
The Hat remained silent for a second longer.   
“You've changed quite a lot and no other house would help you thrive as much as Slytherin... but I am still reluctant to place you there.” 

  
_Why?_

  
“Because knowledge wielded with power is a destructive force. A boy I sorted many years ago had many qualities you yourself have, but he lacked your empathy, your ability to feel and sympathise... choices, choices. Well, I suppose I must ask you once again to choose, Harry Potter. I must ask you to pick your own path. Last time you chose Gryffindor and I granted you your wish because you were brave enough to ask. This time I ask you again: Gryffindor or Slytherin? The lion or the snake? The brave or the ambitious?” 

  
It felt like an eternity Harry sat underneath the hat, thoughts cancelling each other out until one clear answer shone in his mind. “I choose Slytherin because I should never have listened to the poisoned words of a biased boy. I choose Slytherin not out of bravery, but out of ambition because Slytherin holds the power I need to achieve what I must. I choose Slytherin over Gryffindor because it's where I belong and I was foolish to think otherwise." 

  
The hat was silent for what could have been centuries before he whispered, “ _Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. No doubt about that'_. Yes, yesss, I was right.” 

  
And with a force that shook the walls, the Hat roared, “ _SLYTHERIN_!” 

  
The Slytherin table exploded into noise as they cheered and clapped whilst smirking smugly over at the other tables as if to say, ‘ _We got Potter! Ha!’_

  
Before Harry even reached the table, he was surrounded by his already sorted friends. Draco was crowing victoriously at a stingy looking Blaise who was watching them from the front of the hall and Pansy was beaming like she'd just been given the new edition of Witch Weekly. They all beamed at him as warmth surrounded his heart and compassion raced in his blood.

Finally, he sat, and the last few First Years were sorted. Ron went to Gryffindor; a Half-blood girl went to Ravenclaw and Blaise joined them all in Slytherin. 

  
Dumbledore tapped his fork against his goblet as McGonagall rolled up her scroll and marched out of the hall with the Sorting Hat under her arm. Effectively, the four tables fell silent and Dumbledore smiled that grandfatherly smile down at them all. An older Slytherin tittered. 

  
“Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” 

  
“He's mad,” Theo said instantly as he reached out to grab a potato. 

  
“Absolutely barmy,” Blaise agreed as he scooped a handful of carrots onto his plate. 

  
Draco sniffed, “Father says Dumbledore's the worst thing that ever happened to Hogwarts.” 

  
Harry kept silent as he helped himself to a chicken drumstick. Dumbledore was absolutely off his rocker, but that didn't mean he was no less powerful. A horrible thought struck him, and inhaling sharply, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Don't look him in the eye.” 

  
Pansy jerked and at the other threes confused looks, whispered, “He’s a Legilimens.” 

  
“And Snape,” added Harry grimly. 

  
“Merlin,” Draco breathed, “Father said I wouldn't need to learn Occlumency until Third Year!”

  
“I started learning this summer. I don't know about you, but I don't want a nosy Headmaster or a bitter Potions Professor rummaging around in my head.” 

  
“What do you mean ‘ _bitter_ ’?” Theo asked lowly, glancing around. 

  
Harry laughed hollowly, “The rivalry of James Potter and Severus Snape was legendary... and it doesn't help that he's hopelessly in love with my mother.” 

  
Everyone's jaws dropped. 

  
“ _Snape_? And your _mother_?” Pansy said with wide eyes. “Oh, _dear merlin...”_

  
“Wait, wait, wait. You know Occlumency?” said Blaise in a frantic whisper, eyes darting around like a startled animal. “ _Merda_ \- can you teach me?” 

  
“And me!” Draco piped up, staring at Harry with sinfully wide eyes. 

  
“Me too!” Theo declared. 

  
“Don't go leaving me out!” Pansy said shrilly. 

  
“I don't know... it took me a week just to learn how to meditate, and then another few weeks to make fundamental shields...” he caved under their pleading looks, “Fine. I'll teach you all tomorrow. We've got a day to get settled and then classes start.” He ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly messing it up until it resembled his usual messy birds-nest, completely missing the way Draco's eyes followed the movement and Blaise elbowed him with a knowing smirk. 

  
They fell into a comfortable silence: Draco grumbling quietly under his breath about 'Dumbledore' and 'Father'll hear about this', Pansy turned to argue with Daphne Greengrass who had just said that, 'Gildeory Lockhart is an utter tosser' and started a fierce debate about the shade of blonde his hair was, and Blaise and Theo were whispering about one thing or another as they always did. 

Just as Harry thought that everything would finally be normal for the evening, the Bloody Baron popped out of nowhere and blew out his hopes like a candle. 

  
He floated into the empty seat next to Harry, silver, transparent robes stained with blood. His chains rattled inaudibly as he peered with soulless eyes. “Harry Potter,” the Baron murmured, “It is great to see you once more.” 

  
Harry nodded dumbly, clutching his fork like he wanted to stab something as his eye twitched. 

  
“Be warned, the others will not speak to you for fear of upsetting Death's chosen. You wield a wand with the core of the Thestral – creatures that have strong ties – just like you – to the afterlife. They fear what awaits in the beyond. Goodbye Harry Potter.” 

  
And without another word, the Bloody Baron glided away as abruptly as he appeared, leaving Harry to stare after him and wonder on _what had just happened?_

  
When he finally finished running through fifty different scenarios, he turned back to face his friends, excuses on the tip of his tongue. However, they were all talking like nothing had happened. Pansy didn't even glance at him. Thoroughly bewildered, Harry turned to look for the Baron. The Bloody Baron smiled slightly from down the table and suddenly Draco was pulling on his arm and saying, “Harry, didn't you say you supported the Holyhead Harpies? Good - you can be neutral. Tell Blaise that the Appleby Arrows are worse than the Falmouth Falcons...” 

  
Mind reeling and feeling horribly confused, Harry dazedly replied. 

  
He forgot to look at Snape and Quirrell all evening.   
  


* * *

  
It was nearing the end of the feast when Harry took a sip from his pumpkin juice. He swallowed quickly and wrinkled his nose, feeling the sudden tiredness swallow his bones. 

  
“The juice is spiked,” he commented mildly, setting his goblet back on the table. 

  
Blaise spat out his drink, spraying Theo who scowled and flicked a pea at his head before disgustedly wiping it off; Draco gaped, choking on the Pumpkin Juice he was about to swallow: Pansy’s whole face screwed up before she puffed out her cheeks and discreetly spat it back into her goblet. 

  
“ _Poison_?!” Blaise half-shrieked. 

  
Theo smirked moderately before scowling again as another fleck of juice hit his cheek. “You're _horrendous_ , Blaise. Seeing as it ain’t your mother cooking and we aren't any of her husbands, I don’t think so. Injection of Seeping draught, I'd say."

  
Pansy's eyes drooped. “I feel tired as he-he-hell” she yawned. 

  
Draco slumped slightly in his seat before he attempted to straighten up. Harry took pity on him and cast a weak cheering charm. Immediately, the Sleeping Draught’s effects were countered and Draco sat up and grinned, giggling. He did the same for Pansy and Blaise who swiftly joined in with Draco's laughter. Theo seemed to be alright – he was naturally hyper anyway – and so they all sat there grinning like idiots whilst Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bullstrode and Tracey Davis – the other newly sorted Slytherins – shot them odd looks from down the table. They, of course, disappeared when Crabbe and Goyle face-planted their chocolate mousse, splattering every crisp white shirt within a meter radius. 

  
Dumbledore stood up at last and gave his usual speech; a bit of craziness mixed with a cryptic message, wrapped with an undertone of peril. 

  
Later, Harry would question how he and the other four managed to stumble to their new dorms. All he remembered was staggering down cold dungeons, catching a bit of gossip from the portraits (a woman with a puffy blue dress and a mole on her nose loudly sighed as he walked past with Draco snickering at nothing beside him. “A Potter and a Black! A Potter and a Malfoy! What's next, A Potter and a Dark Lord?”) and half-heartedly listening to the Fifth Year female Prefect as she told them the password and the rules and many other things he really couldn't remember. Pansy went to her room with the other First Year girls and Blaise, Theo and Harry burst into their shared room too tired and delirious with the Cheering Charms to notice anything other than the trunks at the end of their beds and the warmth of their pillows.

  
The last thing Harry saw before his eyes fluttered shut was the crescent moon in the darkening sky and the stars sparkling like the eyes of the dead before sleep was claiming him and his mind was dragged into tranquillity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that the Sorting Hat's song isn't mine and I copied McGonsie's Sorting speech from the Philsopers Stone. :)


	8. In Which the Slytherins Learn Occlumency and Harry Takes a Stroll Down Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what you did, Malfoy. You hexed her, didn't you?"

_Made weak by time_

_and fate, but strong_

_In will_

_To strive, to seek,_

_To find, and not_

_To yield_

* * *

_There is a boy in the bathroom. A boy with pale blonde hair and scared grey eyes. His shoulders hunch over the sink as if the weight of the world lies on his back, his reflection staring back at him, forcefully showing the growing bags under his eyes and the unnatural sharpness to his cheekbones. There is a girl floating behind him, murmuring soothingly in his ear as her silvery body disregards the laws of gravity. The universe feels like it is collapsing, the walls closing in on him as the final days draw closer. A sob shakes his body. A sob so full of pain and anguish, it speaks of the most devastating nightmares, of the most heart-breaking grief._

  
_There is another boy in the bathroom. A boy with green eyes, messy black hair and a lightning bolt scar. His wand is held tightly in his grip as he watches and listens, quelling the spark of remorse that flares in him at the very sound of that soul-shattering cry. The sky outside darkens, as if it knew what was coming; as if it knew the future that awaits them. And so, accusations tumble from his tongue and his emerald eyes darken in his hatred. He deludes himself that it's justifiable, his anger. He tells himself the blonde did it. He tells himself that he cursed her. That he poisoned his best friend. He deludes himself. He lies because the other option was to consider the truth._

  
_Glass fractures and busts, porcelain clatters to the floor in delicate shards. Wands parry with spells, vicious syllables escaping in emotional hisses filled with raw anger. The black-haired boy doesn't know why he’s there. Doesn't know why he's in the bathroom, duelling pointlessly with the blonde. Doesn't know why the sun, all fiery heat and quick to temper, is battling with the moon, all cold sneers and cutting insults._ Just doesn't know _._

  
_The grey-eyed boy is shaking, too filled with conflicting feelings to fight with a clear head. They clash like Ice and Fire. Like the Dark and the Light. Like the boy with the fierce emerald eyes and the boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. They fight because that is what they will always do, even when the fight is at its end and the beautiful, perdurable harmony of the melee singing of their souls’ halt at their deaths, they will always be standing on opposite sides._ Always _._

  
_In a single, fleeting moment of panic, he raises his Hawthorne wand and lets the indefensible slip past his lips._

  
_The world screeches to a stop all around them; the oxygen freezing in the air as the rattling in the pipes quieten for just a second. They stand there for only moments, only moments, yet it is enough for viridescent orbs to lock on liquid mercury and convey betrayal and pain that curls in his bones and refuses to leave him, even when the tip of his wand flares a stunning crimson. He is stopped –_ just - in – time _– and for a fracture of a second, relief is his prominent emotion, until the boy with the raven hair slashes his wand and his shirt taints red._

  
_The world slams back into motion and suddenly someone is screaming_ murder _and the boy is staring at his hands as the blood runs warmly through his fingertips. He looks at the ghostly pale blonde hair and the pasty skin of the one he relishes calling his rival, and he wishes this would end. Wishes that he never looked at that hastily scribbled Sectumsempra in his book. Wishes, as mumbled pleas for forgiveness erupts from a painful bubble in his chest, that they could switch places. That he is the one laying in the spilled bathroom water with blood flowing from his chest and the starlight framing a halo around his head._

  
_Wishes that the sun didn't have to fight with the moon._

  
_The scene warps and twists until it's a different environment this time. Gloomy bathrooms are replaced by warm skies and a smooth lake, murky, blood-spilled water is replaced by smooth grass and the scent of the forest. There is a boy sitting under the tree. A boy with slightly ruffled blonde hair and a silly sort of smile on his lips. Another boy is sitting next to him. A boy with messy black hair, wire-rimmed glasses and an emerald tie. They laugh as the afternoon turns to the evening and the sun pauses to lightly caress the moon before sinking below the horizon._

  
_The boy with the sparkling green eyes glances down at their laced fingers, at the tanned hand in the delicately pale one, and smiles._

* * *

As Harry Potter blinked in the middle of the night, his eyes fluttering open, he didn't remember the dream. He only remembered the warmth in his hand and the sun on his face. 

* * *

  
When he awoke that morning, the first thing he heard was Theo's groans as he groped his silk sheets, shivering at the depressing cold breeze that lurked in the dungeons and sleepily whining at a smug-looking Blaise for his duvet back. 

  
“Get up, sleepy head! We've got a day of exploring to do!” He sang, his smirk growing as Theo whined a bit more and buried his face in his pillow. 

  
Draco, on the bed next to his, was still sleeping obliviously, wrapped in his sheets like a cocoon and curled on his side. All that was visible was a strand of silky blonde hair and slightly upturned lips like a reminiscent of a peaceful dream. 

  
Blaise caught his eyes from the other side of the room, and with a cheerful wink, waved his wand over Theo's still mumbling form. There was a pause, then- 

  
“YOU!” Theo howled, shooting up from his bed like it was on fire, “ _YOU_ \- _YOU_ _SNEAKY, HORRIBLE, DETESTABLE, MORONIC-"_

  
Blaise just smiled merrily before sauntering off to the bathroom.

  
Theo stood by his bed, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon and glaring holes into the door Blaise had just slipped through. “Fucking bastard,” he finally muttered before he grabbed his robes from his and Blaise's shared wardrobe a bit too forcefully. 

  
Harry leaned back against his headboard, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched. “Hey Blaise?!” he called. 

  
“Yeah?!” 

  
“What hex was that?” 

  
“Oh,” Blaise said sounding very complacent, “Mother taught me – it makes you think your bed’s alight! She used to use it to drag me up on a Sunday!” 

  
Harry smirked as Theo scowled, shooting virtual daggers at the door. 

  
Glancing beside him, Harry didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated that Draco was still sleeping soundly.

“Cast a Tempus, would you?” he asked lazily. 

  
Theo threw him a dirty look, “Do it yourself, traitor." 

  
Harry sighed and dug around under his pillow for the familiar length of Cherry. After a bit of fumbling and a brief curse when it tumbled almost mockingly from the edge of his bed, he finally grabbed his wand and muttered a sulky, “ _Tempus_ ,” Large silvery numbers slipped from the tip to form a rather snake-like 8:32. Swearing hard enough to make McGonagall blush, Harry attempted to climb out of bed. Instead, he ended up in a heap on the floor, the sheets tangled around his waist. Theo laughed loudly from across the room; Draco stirred in his sleep before mumbling incoherently and burrowing back into his warm duvet. 

  
Torn between amusement at how adorable he looked, frustration that he was still in the land of nothing, and lingering panic at seeing that they only had half an hour to leg it to breakfast, Harry shuffled indecisively at Draco's side before huffing in frustration and simply yanking the curtains open and shaking his shoulders. 

  
He sat up with a hiss and a squint as he shielded himself from the dawning sunlight filtering in through the charmed windows, distorted patterns of light glowing due to the lake outside. It was inarguably cold in the dungeons, but it was worth enduring the cool temperatures just to watch the giant squid drift lazily past and a few kelpies peering curiously through the glass. Harry tried not to compare Draco to a muggle cartoon vampire. 

  
“Wha- what's the time?” 

  
“Half an hour ‘till breakfast!” Blaise said happily as he walked out from the bathroom, school robes on and far too cheery for someone that's had less than nine hours sleep. Harry was running on seven, fighting to keep his drooping eyeballs open. 

  
Draco looked ready to either cry or scream as he caught a glance at his messy hair – of course, it wasn't sticking up at all ends like Harry's, but to Draco Malfoy who always had to have not a hair out of line, it was like he was being faced with his boggart.

  
“But- but my hair! _My hair!_ ” he wailed, fisting his top; a habit he had when he was extremely worked up, Harry had noticed. He'd done it in Diagon when he was introducing his father to Harry. 

  
Theo was too busy biting his lip to keep his laughter in to help and Blaise wasn't faring any better. He had sprawled back onto his miraculously made bed with a book upside down in his hands as he hid behind it, shoulders shaking. 

_Insensitive pricks._

  
Scowling at the pair of them, Harry sighed irritably and snatched up his wand. “You want it straight, yeah? And gelled back?” 

  
Draco nodded pitifully. 

  
“ _Recta capillis."_

  
His blonde hair rose like it had been touched by static electricity before it sank back into that neat, gelled back style he usually had it. Draco gaped at himself in the mirror before catching Harry’s triumphant eyes and small flick of the lips. He tried to scowl but it was ruined by the small, thankful smile that overwhelmed his faux glare. “Thanks, Harry.” 

  
“It's alright. You all still want to learn Occlumency?” 

  
“Yeah.” 

  
“Yup.” 

  
“Yes.” 

  
Harry ran a hand through his hair before nodding vaguely and scooping up his new robes. So distracted, he barely even noticed his dark green and silver tie

* * *

  
Logically, he knew that they could practice Occlumency in their dorms, but Pansy wanted to learn too and their room was a hurricane of movement and noise; not good for meditating at all. That left Harry to find an abandoned classroom – where anyone could stumble upon them – or reveal one of his two best hiding places. The Chamber of Secrets would be a difficult one to explain and then there was the whole Parseltongue business... his other option, and the one he selfishly wanted to keep to himself, was the Room of Requirement. As far as his knowledge went, only he and the house-elves knew of its existence at the current moment.

  
So that was where he was – standing opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and staring blankly at the door-less wall. 

  
Did he want to go in there? Did he want to summon a door and see the esurient flames devouring everything in sight? Did he want to see Crabbe falling into liquid heat? Did he want to watch the DA cast their Patronus with happy and tired smiles? Did he? _Could_ he? 

  
He glanced up and down the empty corridor, closed his eyes, and slowly paced back and forth three times. 

  
He wasn't sure what he wanted, what his subconscious had asked for, but nevertheless, a door appeared. 

  
It was an average door – unassuming – but it was the five handprints of red and gold that stole the attention. Four very obviously male hands, but one female. Something in his ached in remembrance, but he was sure he'd never seen the door before. Gathering his last few flecks of remaining reckless courage, Harry opened the door. 

  
For a moment, he just stared. Stared at the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves and the maroon bean bags sat in front of the roaring fire. Stared at the red-haired girl with her arm looped through a grinning, messy-haired boy with kind, hazel eyes. Stared at the tall, gangly boy with the tawny hair and an arm around a boy with his hair flung up in a messy ponytail. Stared at the small, pudgy boy with blue eyes and a bright smile. Stared at the five people that dominated the pictures scattered on the wall. A few bits of messily teared notes littered the floor. 

  
_‘... I swear Minnie's onto us – did you see her face, Prongs?...’_

  
_‘... You alright, Wormtail?...’_

  
_‘Hey Moony – Fuck, Marry, Kill the rest of us...’_

  
_‘..._ Fuck _this,_ Marry _myself,_ Kill _you all...’_

  
_‘... Padfoot! I think Evans just looked at me! D'you think she'll go out with me now?...’_

  
A huge Gryffindor banner was pinned to one wall, with red and gold scarves slung by the fire. There were paw marks and odd hoof marks, a few little rat steps too... 

  
Harry stared around at the room for what could have been an eternity. A hollow void he didn't know existed closed a little within him, and with a jolt, he realised what he wanted. The Room had supplied it as best as it could, but – and he was mortified to feel his eyes pickling – it could never bring back the dead. 

  
“Mum,” he whispered, clutching a Gryffindor scarf that smelled of vanilla and cookies, “Dad.” 

  
If he imagined hard enough, he could almost feel the way a hand ran fondly through his hair and an arm slung reassuringly around his shoulders. 

* * *

“What _is_ this place?” 

After his trip down memory lane, Blaise, Theo, Pansy and Draco all barged in just as the Room changed. Blaise looked amazed, Theo still carried his trademark bored look, Pansy was peering interestedly at the smooth spines of a few books, and Draco was simply staring at him. 

  
“The Room of Requirement,” said Harry, as he glanced up at the sky above. It wasn’t really the actual sky, but apparently, when you ask for something peaceful and relaxing, you get grass and clear skies. 

  
Harry jumped to his feet and distractedly asked for a milkshake. To his surprise - and extreme delight – a bowl of strawberry ice cream and a pitcher of milk appeared on a table that had sprung out of nowhere.

_But the Room can't supply food...?_

_Probably the house-elves. I'll have to thank them later..._

Sipping his milkshake, Harry watched as the four of them fidgeted under his gaze.

  
“I can't explain Occlumency,” he began, “I can't explain magic at all. For every person it is different. For every person it's unique. I can tell you ‘till I'm blue in the face that when I meditate, I imagine drifting off in the water. I can tell you that Occlumency is easy, but I can't because what works for me mightn't work for you. It's the art of shielding one's mind from external forces, but it does much more than that. It orders your mind into separate sections, but overall, it simply aids you. Emotional idiots with their hearts flashing in neon lights on their sleeves would have trouble occluding their mind because they let their emotions top their logic. If you meditate correctly, you'll probably discover your mindscape. That’s what you build your shields from. A common one is Hogwarts or another stone building, physical shields and weapons, or a certain room that's familiar to you. They're effective, but easy to tear apart...” Harry only just realised they were all staring at him. “Er-" 

  
“You better go into teaching when you're older!” Blaise said with wide eyes. 

  
Pansy nodded eagerly. 

  
“I- what's your mindscape?” 

  
Harry looked over to Draco. He was watching him with big silver eyes, a slight blush on his cheeks – Harry’s heart _totally_ didn't skip a beat - but otherwise earnest. 

  
Chewing on his lip, Harry thought aloud, “Well, mine isn't a solid structure. Other than Hogwarts, there's no other place I know from the inside and out. There was a witch that researched a different type of Occlumency about a century ago and I took her advice. No one can slip past my shields without me knowing about them.” 

  
Draco tilted his head in question. 

  
“I used an element... a liquid element. For example... say, fire or something. You have to imagine your mind compressed into a ball and a whole waterfall of fire shrouding your mindscape. As far as I know, they're impenetrable.” 

  
“Wow,” Theo said, and with satisfaction, Harry noted that his perfectly lazy smirk that he usually sported had slid away to make room for something akin to a twelve-year-old boy stumbling across the latest edition of _Playwizard_. “So how do we meditate again?” 

  
“Lay down,” he said, trying to make his voice as smooth and soothing as possible and not let his mischievous mind quip in with... _other_ images, “Close your eyes and imagine something that makes you peaceful. Imagine it. Perhaps it's the gentle lull of the sea lapping at the rocks... or maybe the soft singing of the wildlife... Imagine the stars shining overhead or gentle music in your ears...” 

  
Theo looked limp with a blissful smile on his face, eye's half open and dazed; Blaise looked like he'd had too much booze and passed out on the nearest available surface; Pansy had her arms and legs spread apart like she was floating; and Draco had his head tilted back like he was bathing in a sun they could not see. 

  
Harry made sure to keep an eye on the time – he did want to take them exploring, after all – and it wasn't long before a quarter of an hour later, Theo stirred. He blinked his glassy brown eyes open until they focused on Harry and suddenly, he smiled hugely. “I was somewhere – I don't know where exactly – and there were trees and birds and-" 

  
He was interrupted by Blaise who sat bolt upright with a jolt before babbling, “That was brilliant! I was on this beach and the sun was setting and it was bloody _brilliant_! -" 

  
Pansy sat upright delicately, a proud sort of smile on her face as she cut off Blaise, “I was floating-" she gave a dreamy sigh, “and then suddenly I was back home and everything was perfect. It was a truly amazi-" 

  
Draco bolted up with dazed eyes, but unlike the others, he didn’t speak apart from a faint sort of whine. 

  
“Draco?” 

  
He slowly looked up to meet Harry's eyes before he immediately looked down, his cheeks tinging red. Harry didn't question it. If Draco wanted to share, he would. 

  
Theo and Blaise shared a look before starting to prattle on about their mindscapes. Harry nodded and hummed in the right places, but always found his gaze hesitating on Draco. 

  
He really didn't understand how he used to think that Draco Malfoy was a stuck up, nefarious little git, when he was really shy and innocent. With his big, sinful eyes and small, hopeful smiles... it didn't matter anyways. Like _at all_. Not like it made his heart do treacherous things and old protective instincts flare up again. 

  
After Pansy, Blaise and Theo finally ran out of words, Harry suggested exploring the castle – an idea they seized with both hands – bringing one of _those_ smiles from Draco. 

  
They all left the room, Pansy arguing with Theo about _Witch Weekly_ of all things and Draco by his side. 

  
He looked back at the door fading, looked back at the Fiendfyre that consumed his soul, looked back at the arms wrapped tightly around his waist, looked back at Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. 

  
He glanced at the small blonde boy next to him, looked at the sweet smile on his lips and the shine to his grey eyes, looked at Harry and Draco. 

  
Harry smiled. He much preferred the present to the past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I think I forgot to mention it, but Goyle and Crabbe share a separate room... I have no idea why. They just do.  
> Also, I love metaphors -  
> Thats it.


	9. In Which Harry Becomes a Legend, Blows up a Cauldron and has Questionable Fantasies About Draco Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry Potter... our new - celebrity"

_You need_

_Chaos_

_In your soul_

_To give birth to_

_A dancing_

_Star_

* * *

The days passed in normal succession- well, as normal as it could be when you're wandering the halls of a magical castle and watching your teacher turn her desk into a pig with a swish of her wand. The novelty of seeing the ‘ _Boy-Who-Lived_ ' walking amongst the ‘ _lowly mortals_ ' - as Blaise put it - had slowly started to subside until he was considered just another student. Well, perhaps a student that had vanquishing the Dark Lord under their belt and a get-out-of-jail-free-card when he was caught out after curfew that one time by the Hufflepuff female Prefect. It turns out, when someone finds you just outside the entrance to the kitchens with enough food to feed the whole of Britain floating behind you, if you just smile sweetly and innocently ask her if she'd like a pumpkin pasty because ‘ _I've never had one before and Draco tells me they're terribly delicious!’_ then she'll smile and only give you a light reprise. When he'd devilishly recounted the events to Blaise and Theo, they'd looked at him in surprised silence before exploding into excited exclamations of what they could do at night if Harry simply batted his eyelashes at the nearest Prefect. 

  
McGonagall had done her usual stunt of transforming into a cat in their first Transfiguration class, along with turning her desk into a pig. Pansy seemed rather disheartened when she realised they wouldn't be making rabbits from hairbrushes any time soon. Nevertheless, she, along with Hermione and, of course, Harry himself were the only ones to change their matchsticks into needles. Hermione's had gone all pointy and silvery, Pansy’s had done everything correctly except miss putting the eye on her needle and Harry had simply adopted a bored sort of glaze to his eyes before idly muttering the incantation and _ping_ – there was the perfect needle. McGonagall had stared at him for ages before she flashed him one of her rare smiles and whispered something about James and his talent in Transfiguration. 

  
Flitwick toppled off his stool of books in Charms when he'd got to Harry’s name on the register and gave the same lecture he always gave the First Years. Harry kept an eye on him as he and Draco lounged at the back of the class, whispering whilst making up dramatic tales of their childhood (“-so after I heroically saved my muggle cousin from a burning building, I flew us both into the sunset where I heroically battled a Norwegian Ridgeback with Godric Gryffindor’s sword-") and laughing – it was more like giggling, but Harry would protest until his dying day that he did something as childishly trival as _giggling_ \- as Pansy almost jumped out of her seat to beat Hermione to answering a question. The two seemed to have started a rivalry that could have emulated Gryffindor Harry and Slytherin Draco's own. 

  
Sprout was a flurry of kind smiles and warm reassurances when a few First Years started crying about ‘ _oh, Professor! My jiry plant doesn't like me!_ ’. Harry spent most of their Herbology lessons watching Theo and Blaise flick dirt at each other when they thought no one was looking. Pansy always emerged from the greenhouses near tears whenever she looked at the soil under her nails and the smudges on her crisp white shirt. Draco looked like he wanted to scream when Sprout dismissed them and he caught sight of his slightly rumpled hair and dirt-streaked skin. He’d always look pleading towards Harry, and with a mock sigh, Harry would always draw his wand and mutter a few spells that had the dirt fading like it was never there and Draco's hair settling into its flat smooth style he seemed to favour. Harry knew he had mastered the hair charm – a few seconds of looking at Harry with his brilliant grey eyes and hopeful smile, his firm resolve crumbled – but he seemed to prefer Harry doing it for some odd reason. 

  
The first week progressed in a whirl of morning grumbles and frantic scrambling for parchment and quills, until they landed on Friday. 

  
He knew the moment he lay eyes upon his timetable that he would see Potions clearly marked for the last working day of the week. The only bonus was that their first flying lesson was scheduled for that afternoon. Draco had been bouncing off the walls when he first saw the notice pinned to the board in the Slytherin common room. Blaise had seemed uncharacteristically nervous until Pansy went into an anxious rant about all the times she'd fallen off her broom at home. Draco had grown insatiable as he animatedly shared long anecdotes of all the adventures he'd had whilst flying over a forest in Wiltshire. Harry hadn't offered any stories, but by the gleam in his eyes and the random intervals when he'd suddenly start smiling at nothing spoke for itself. 

  
The other First Year Slytherins were undoubtedly looking forward to Potions. Many times Harry had stepped through the wall to the common room and been greeted by excited whispers about Snape and his blatant favouritism. Daphne Greengrass seemed to be under the impression that she could bribe her way into Snape’s good books – Harry had to scoff at that one – whilst Tracey Davis was telling anyone who listened that he boiled Gryffindors in his cauldrons. A passing Paravati Patil had paled drastically on hearing it before rushing back to – probably – share the new ‘gossip' with Lavender Brown. Harry really wouldn't be surprised if that were true. Snape did have rather odd things that got him off. Whatever floats his boat, he supposed. 

  
When Friday finally rolled around, it was to an edgy silence from the First Year Gryffindors that only got edgier when Fred and George loudly described how they had accidentally walked in on Snape trying to cook at student last year. Flint, who sat further up the table with the other older years, paused his fanatical discussion of Quidditch plays – _why_ was it every Captain was so obsessed with the sport? – to shoot a rather ugly smile at the Weasley twins and shout across the hall, “Who said ‘e had only _tried_ cookin' ‘em?” which had Crabbe and Goyle guffawing noisily. Draco, if Harry remembered correctly – which he most certainly did – used to be the best in their year at Potions, achieving higher grades than even Hermione. 

  
Blaise looked jittery all morning and only when Pansy and Theo cornered him did he finally mumble that he was utterly shit at brewing. Harry had stared at him. No one, _no one,_ could be worse than Harry Potter at Potions. People used to use his latest explosions as legends to pass on to the younger years. It was a commonly known fact that Harry Potter and decoctions didn’t mix. He and Seamus had once paired up. That day went down in the history books for being the _one_ time the whole dungeon had to be evacuated to clear up the aftermath. Of course, Blaise didn't know that, but he soon would. 

  
Contrasting to Harry’s sullen dread at the oncoming hour, Draco looked absolutely ecstatic. Pansy, after nearly falling asleep standing up for the seventh time, cut his tirade of how wonderful the art of Potion making was, with a tired, “Darling, I'm sure you'll be fabulous but I'm exhausted with having to listen to your... _speeches_. Go and tell Harry. I'm sure he’ll be _delighted_ to listen.” 

  
And so there they were now, huddled in Snape’s – sorry, _Professor_ Snape’s – freezing classroom with one fraction of the glass all red ties, the other green, and trying to pretend they weren't all freezing their galleons off. Harry could have sworn his nose went numb for a second before he rubbed it away. Draco was babbling away regardless. 

  
“-and I read once that if you add a counter-clockwise stir to the Draught of Peace, that it would-" 

  
The door banged open, and in a swirl of black, dramatic robes, Severus Snape glided into the classroom. 

  
Draco paused mid-sentence, Theo's usual carefree composure wavered for a second, Blaise seemed like he would rather take a stroll in the Forbidden Forest than be sitting in front if a sneering Snape and Pansy tried to look like she hadn't been painting her nails just a minute before he walked in. Harry stayed exactly as he was; half slouched over the desk, head on his hand and eyes half closed. He was fucking tired from staying up all night and trying not to fall asleep to care what he looked like. Every time his eyes closed, there was blood on his hands and glassy black eyes weeping memories too painful to relive. Sometimes Harry wished someone would just _Obliviate_ him of his past life. It was as much a curse as it was a blessing. 

  
The Gryffindor portion of the room was sweating nervously despite the temperatures as Snape stood in front of them without even a whispered word. He took the register, and luckily Harry was prepared because when his name was read out, he said the exact same thing as before. 

  
“Harry Potter – our new... _celebrity_.” 

  
This time, no one laughed. Draco's brow furrowed as he glanced at Snape. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione frown in confusion as well, no doubt wondering why the man said to favour Slytherins so obviously was jabbing at one of his own. 

  
Harry only smiled. An amused, entertained smile, but a smile no less. 

  
Snape scowled briefly before smoothly moving on to the next name as if the whole exchange never happened. 

  
When the Gryffindors looked ready to combust from timorous fright and even the Slytherins started fidgeting, Snape spoke. 

  
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in no more than a light whisper, a delicate inspiration spoken into the silence. If Harry hadn't heard it all before, he probably would of been on the edge of his seat like Draco was. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

  
Pansy and Hermione seemed to be in a competition for who could sit the straightest, Draco was gripping his quill tightly as he stared up at the greasy bat in admiration – Harry scowled – and Blaise seemed to be in some sort of trance. Was it only him who wasn't leaping at the chance to whip out his cauldron and prove he wasn't a dunderhead? 

  
“Potter!” _There it is_ , “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” 

  
Draco twitched beside him as if physically restraining himself from answering.

  
“The Draught if Living Death, sir. A Potion so powerful it sends the victim into a coma with a death-like appearance-" probably what that muggle (Juliet, was it?) used in that play, “-it was labelled grey by the Ministry in 1899. Rare to brew, but not illegal.” 

  
Half the class stared at him and Harry inwardly winced. _Too much._

  
Snape’s dark eyes sparked. “Five points to Slytherin, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” 

  
He remembered all too clearly the time he had to shove the small rock down his best friend’s throat. “The stomach of a goat, sir. They counteract most poisons but not all. Snake venom spreads too fast for a bezoar to be used as an antidote.” 

  
Snape’s beetle eyes locked in Harry's and _fuck- is that Legilimency?_

  
Fake memories of reading _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ rose in his mind. He wasn't skilled at creating false recollections, but it seemed to be sufficient for Snape’s liking if the confused but considering look in his eye was an example. 

  
“Take another point to Slytherin. Last question; what is the difference between monkhood and wolfsbane?” 

  
_A test_... 

  
It wasn't in _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ and the bastard knew it. 

  
“There isn't a difference, Professor. They're the same plant that also goes by the name Aconite.” 

  
Harry earned another five points, a bright smile from Draco and an envious look from Blaise. Of course, all the admiration died when it came down to the practical side. 

  
Draco had collected the ingredients, lit the fire with a little help from Harry and just began neatly dicing the doxy roots when Harry decided to help. 

  
Looking back, maybe he shouldn't have. 

  
He clarified with the instructions written on the board and stirred their potion carefully clockwise four times every minute and just put in the crushed moly leaves when Draco gasped, a horrified expression on his face as he stared at the powder that had just slid into the cauldron. He yanked Harry under the table just as a loud _boom_ exploded in the room. 

  
_Everything_ froze. 

  
Colourful smoke hazed across the room just as another two cauldrons blew up. 

  
He and Draco were both clutching each other under the desk, Harry's cheeks puffed comically from trying not to laugh, and Draco frozen like he'd just been spotted by Mrs Norris after lights out. Harry tried, he really did, not to break into hysterical snickers, but something about the way Theo and Blaise's abysmal attempt at a Blood-boiling antidote exploded just a second after theirs, and the wild smile Theo was sporting as he caught Harry's eye made it spill over. 

  
He stumbled to his feet, pulling Draco up with him as he clutched his side and laughed and laughed and _laughed_. 

  
Grinning far too happily for someone that just completely botched a brew, Harry met Professor Snape's livid eyes and said cheerily, “Sorry sir. It runs in the Potter genes.” 

  
Severus Snape never looked like he wanted to throttle someone so badly. 

* * *

  
Not even an hour after their lesson in the dungeons, the whole school knew of the new record the First Year Gryffindor and Slytherins had set. Ah, the Hogwarts rumour mill was a marvellous thing. By lunch everyone seemed under the illusion that Snape had imploded and was currently being fed to the thestrals by Hagrid. Even the ghosts had started gossiping amongst themselves. The Weasley twins had taken to pretending to theatrically sob every time a very much annoyed and very much _alive_ Potions professor walked past. Dumbledore, always one for a joke, had commented to the nearest person every time black robes and greasy hair skulked past, “Poor Severus. I really must look into hiring a new Potions master.” 

  
Draco, after getting over Harry’s atrocious skills in ‘ _the brilliant art of Potion making’_ had reluctantly seen the funny side, and after lunch, finally started laughing at the extrovert rumours that flew wildly in the air.   
Their collective favourite had to be one they overhead from an older Hufflepuff. 

  
“Did you hear? The dungeon bat got shot by one of those metal wands that a muggle-born had in her school bag! Hermione Granger, apparently!” 

  
Pansy had laughed so much she had to lean on Theo for support. “Granger! _Granger_ shoot Snape! That's like saying I'm secretly a boy!” 

  
They had all automatically looked at Pansy’s chest which was – _cough_ – not flat at all. 

  
And so, sharing all the most interesting theories they'd heard, the five headed down from the castle after lunch to the grounds.   
Draco looked like he wanted nothing more than to snatch up a broom and soar into the skies, but when he caught sight of the broomsticks all lined up in two opposite rows, he stopped short, a scandalized look on his face. “What are they?! You call those... those _twigs_ a broom?!” 

  
Harry stared at them too. Oh, how he longed for his sleek Firebolt with its polished wood and slim tail, it's advanced speed and shiny lettering...

  
“Harry, mate, you're drooling.” 

  
Scowling at the shafts of wood in front of him, Harry stood next to Draco, sent Blaise a glare, and took the most decent broom of the lot that didn't look like it would collapse under his weight. 

  
“-Father'll hear about this! Honestly, how do they expect us to fly on these things?!” 

  
“Well, Mr Malfoy, you'll fly on them by putting your hand over the broom and saying ‘ _up’.”_

  
And there was Madam Hooch. 

  
She sent Draco a sharp look with her cat-like eyes, gave him a once over before turning and addressing the rest of the class that were standing uncertainly by a broom. 

  
A flush crept up Draco's neck – Harry pointedly ignored the part of his mind that wanted to smother his neck with kisses and have it red from something else (preferably his lips) – really, was it normal to think your best friend was... was... was...

  
_What?_

  
That traitorous part of his mind that spent every waking hour of the day fantasizing inappropriate things thought that Draco Malfoy ought to be bent over a desk until he couldn't walk, but that part was generally overshadowed by reason. They were both _eleven_ and Harry _severely_ doubted that Draco would even know what being bent over a desk meant. Theo probably would. Theo seemed to know everything that he shouldn't. Maybe it was a bit odd that the... _active_ section of Harry’s mind imagined Draco as the protagonist, but Harry, being the oblivious boy he was, didn't think much of it. Sure, he never dreamt of Ron or Hermione in that way, but then again, Draco was always different, wasn't he? They were always on a different level; not friends but not the type of enemies that _wanted-to-hold-a-wand-to-each-others-throat_ and _Crucio_ each other into oblivion. 

  
So Harry shrugged it off, told himself it didn't mean anything and promptly drew his attention back to Madam Hooch. 

  
“-stick your hand over your broom and say ‘up’”

  
_Easy_. 

  
Hermione, Pansy and poor Neville obviously didn't think so. Hermione was reciting what sounded to be _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back-to-back, Pansy had her face screwed up in concentration as she thrust her hand out and shouted, “Up! Up! _Up!_ ” 

  
It didn't make a difference whether she shouted or not, her broom remained twitching on the floor. Theo managed on his second attempt, Draco on his first and Blaise on his third. They all watched him curiously as he simply stuck his hand out and said a quite but undoubtedly authoritative, _“Up._ ” 

  
The broom shot into his hand eagerly, vibrating under his fingertips with the proclivity to be ridden once more. 

  
Madam Hooch inspected each of their grips, nodding approval and making tips; Harry helpfully corrected Draco's before she made it round to them. 

  
Ron, standing opposite Harry, was laughing with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas about some thing or another. It made a sharp stab of grief twist his heart before it was ruthlessly pushed aside. It didn't matter who Ronald Weasley became friends with. They weren't friends - they weren't even acquaintances – they were simply strangers in a world of companionship. 

  
Draco nudged him with his shoulder, a spark of competitiveness in his eyes. “Race you?” 

  
Harry grinned perhaps a bit too sinisterly. “You're on.” 

  
And without waiting for Madam Hooch's countdown, they soared into the open sides.

* * *

  
Snape loomed over then with an angry sneer and his usual cheerful disposition. 

  
“- _what were you thinking!?_ Knowingly disregarding the rules!” 

  
Draco had the gall to look ashamed but the effect was ruined by his bouncing leg and beaming smile that looked ready to crack his mask. 

  
Harry tried to hide his amusement. It didn't work. 

  
“And _you,_ Potter! Just like your-" 

  
_Father_. 

  
“-father! Lazy-" 

  
_Arrogant_. 

  
“-arrogant! -" 

  
_Don't say a word about my father!_

  
"-weak!"

  
_I'm not weak!_

  
The smile slipped from Harry’s face. 

  
“He, too, loved to disregard the rules. Rules were for us _lowly_ mortals, not Quidditch stars and Cup winners,” Snape said cruelly, a malicious undertone to his voice. 

  
For a minute, Harry wasn’t sitting in a dingy office being shouted at – nothing new there – but instead watching his dad rush out into the hallway without his wand and collide with death personified. In that moment, Harry pitied Snape. Pitied him for holding on to a childhood grudge for so long, he was blinded to see that the boy sitting in front of him didn't have James Potter's mischievous glint or hazel eyes. He couldn't see that Harry Potter was both James and Lily's child. The child of his... _well_ , whatever Lily was to the greasy git. It was rather pathetic to pine over a dead woman. 

  
“Did you wish to speak to us about anything, Professor?” 

  
Snape looked livid. Surely if he looked close enough steam would be erupting from his ears. 

  
“Yes, _Potter_ , I did,” he spat the name like it was a curse. 

  
Draco was watching them both oddly, glancing between Harry's hard eyes and Snape's meaner than usual sneer. 

  
“I've asked Flint to secure you both a try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team. As I understand it, Mr Malfoy plays chaser and you seeker. We need both. Dismissed.” 

  
Jaw clenched so hard he could hardly speak, Harry stood stiffly. 

  
The door slammed loudly behind them.

Draco flinched, "Are you alright, Harry?” 

  
“Yeah... yeah, I'm fine.” 

  
Fine, fine, _fine_. 

  
He glanced nervously down the dark corridors and without warning, flung himself into Harry's arms. 

It was amzing how the grief in his soul left with his exhaling breath the minute Draco touched him. 

  
Harry smiled tentatively, wrapped his arms around him too and smiled as blonde hair tickled his cheek and warmth flooded his heart like a river. 


	10. In Which Ron is Awkward, Draco is Jealous and Harry is Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

_If you reveal_

_Your secrets_

_To the wind,_

_You should not_

_Blame the wind_

_For revealing_

_Them to the_

_Trees_

* * *

It was four weeks later that it happened. 

  
The storm that flared up unexpectedly. 

  
Ron Weasley. 

  
The day was just like any other; Harry had gotten up, chucked a pillow at Draco to wake him up – their daily ritual, listened to Blaise and Theo's morning banter and blearily trailed to the Great Hall for breakfast. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He had a glass of pumpkin juice, spread his strawberry jam onto his toast and tried to dig through his heap of memories to remember what they'd be doing, when someone tapped his shoulder. 

  
Now, every Slytherin knew the basic rules of survival. _One_ : _don't_ try to grab a fellow snake early in the morning - you'll likely be on the receiving end of a particularly nasty stinging jinx, _Two_ : _don't_ mention the word ‘ _Mudblood’_ around a grumpy Harry Potter - you'll have to watch your back for the rest of the day, and _Three_ : _don't_ approach Harry Potter when Draco Malfoy's around - you'll get a glare from the blonde that could cut diamonds. Rumour has it Snape wet himself when he saw it. _(Not true but a theory that had Harry snickering to himself at three o'clock in the morning.)_

  
By the way the person that was touching him had completely ignored all those very obvious unsaid rules, it was most likely a Gryffindor. 

  
Slowly wiping the jam of his lip, Harry turned around. 

  
“Erm – I- my brothers - jokers the two of them – dared me to – _uh_ – introduce myself.” 

  
_Hello, Ron._

  
Harry could only stare dumbly at the faded robes, recognisable freckles and carrot-topped hair. 

  
Acutely aware if Draco scowling mutinously beside him, Harry attempted a smile. By the way Ron recoiled, it probably looked more like a grimace. 

  
“Harry... Potter. Nice to meet you, Ron Weasley.” 

  
Oh shit. He sounded like _Luna_. Not that there was anything wrong with Luna or anything- 

  
“I- er- ok.” 

  
_Awkward_. 

  
Harry deserved to be cut _some_ slack. His old best friend was standing in front of him, tips of his ears gradually turning as red as his hair as he shuffled uncertainly. He half expected Ron to pull out a chess set and sling an arm around his shoulders – just like before – but that clearly wasn't going to happen. 

  
“Well,” Harry said, smiling fixedly, “Lovely to meet you, Weasley.” 

  
_Never did he think he'd been calling Ron by his last name._

  
“You too, Potter.” 

  
And the storm passed. 

  
But perhaps it didn't. 

  
Draco was in a foul mood for the rest of the day. Every time he saw red hair, his scowl would come back in earnest and his usually energetic conversations would halt to the occasional yes or no. Pansy kept frowning pensively into the distance and Blaise wasn't much help either. Only Theo seemed to have an inkling of what was going on. Whenever Draco went into one of his moods (as Harry had taken to calling them) Theo would smirk secretively and watch him with amused eyes. 

  
In a History of Magic, Draco spent the lesson absently waving his wand and creating a smoky weasel that kept being eaten by a dragon over and over and _over_ again. Harry really regretted teaching him that spell - it was driving him round the bend. Binns, in his monotonous voice, had ‘told him off' – yeah, he had seen _Kneazles_ that could give a better scolding that Binns. 

  
The day progressed in a scatter of scowls and smiles, and by the time Harry had reached the Slytherin dormitory, he had had enough. 

  
The second Draco stepped through the door, Harry grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over to his bed, pulled the curtains shut, cast a silencing charm and snatched his bluebell flames from his bedside table. 

  
“Talk,” He said. 

  
Eyes wide, Draco stared at him. 

  
“You've been really weird all day. I mean, I even asked you about Potions – _Potions_! – to get you to talk...” 

  
A sudden thought hit him with the force of the Hogwarts Express. _No_ , he told himself, _of course not... but what if...?_

  
“We're still friends, right? Best friends?” he hated how vulnerable his voice sounded. Hated how his insecurity escaped the cage it had been enclosed in. Hated the way everything was different and yet everything was the same. Hated, hated, _hated_. 

  
When Draco spoke, it was no more than a whisper, “Of course we're still friends! You're my best friend... it was just... it's stupid.” A flush crept up his neck as he lowered his eyes and swallowed. Impulsively, Harry reached out to tug at his wrist. 

  
He didn't think he'd ever want to let go. 

  
It was oddly intimate, the way his index finger lay over Draco's vein, feeling the way the blood sang under his touch and their skin tones clashed just as they both used to. His hand was dark and tanned from all the hours spent working away in Aunt Petunia’s garden, whereas Draco's was pale and delicate from being sheltered inside Malfoy Manor. For a minute, he just stared at the place their souls met, at the place where they collided just as they did before. He stared too, but Harry was sure Draco was thinking much less metaphorical things than him. Even as heat crawled up his neck and his body burned like a furnace, Harry held on. “I don't care if it's stupid or embarrassing or whatever. I want... I'll always listen when you need it, Draco.” 

  
_Always_. 

  
Draco ducked his head. Before his blonde hair obstructed Harry’s view, he caught a pained sort of grimace. 

  
“It's- I just- _IthougtWeasleywasyournewbestfriend_.” He breathed.

  
It took Harry a few seconds to get it. Blinking in bewilderment, he tugged Draco's wrist to get him to look up and, holding eye contact, said, “Weasley isn't my best friend, Draco. _You're_ my best friend. Always.” 

  
“Always,” he repeated dazedly. 

  
“Always,” Harry said firmly, “We'll always be best friends, no matter what.” 

  
_No matter if a Dark Lord comes after me. No matter if a diary tries to force us apart. No matter if we’re separated. My soul will always remain entwined with yours._

  
“Alright,” Draco whispered. He blinked suddenly and smiled with a wicked flicker in his eye, “What was that you said about Potions?” 

  
And just like that, the storm waned and the tension fell away like it was never there. 

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, they were both in for a surprise.

  
Two school barn owls flew over to their table, spilling a jug of orange juice over a horrified Daphne Greengrass’ shirt, and dropping two sealed envelopes in Harry’s jam and Draco's croissant. Theo raised an eyebrow, Pansy paused and carefully set her toast down but Blaise was too busy gawking at Greengrass' now translucent shirt to care much. With a disgruntled look, Draco blew the pastry off his letter and opened it. His expression changed from mildly annoyed to terribly excited in under a second. Harry scowled at his and carefully peeled it off of the jam, raised an eyebrow at the blonde and unceremoniously ripped it open. 

  
_Potter_ , (He could practically hear the way it was spat)

_Quidditch Practice is at six this evening. As no one else has tried out for the position, if your skills are satisfactory, you shall have a place on the Slytherin team. Tell no one._

_Professor S. Snape_

  
Blunt, slightly morbid and condescending. 

  
It had Severus Snape written _all over it._

  
He glanced up at the staff table. The glare being thrown at him could incinerate a troll. Harry smiled. 

  
Looked like he was going to have his Nimbus again. 

  
“Harry! Look!” Draco shook his shoulders, beaming from ear to ear and clutching his note so hard it was starting to tear. “Father’s going to be so proud!” his smile faltered, “Actually... he said that Chasers were no good, lazy-" 

  
“No,” Harry cut in sharply, “it may be a Seekers job to end the game but it's pointless without a Chaser to rack up the points. I think Chasers have the hardest job. And besides, it isn't going to be your father out on that pitch, it's going to be you, so fuck what he says.” 

  
Draco smiled almost shyly before going back to his breakfast, and when Harry burnt his parchment, Draco slipped his hand into his. 

  
Pansy smiled to herself as Theo and Blaise exchanged looks. 

  
The smile on Harry's lips never left until hours later.  
  


* * *

  
When the sun had just began streaking brilliant golds across the skies, Quidditch Practice began. 

  
Marcus Flint was just as obsessed as Oliver Wood was. As soon as he saw Harry and his blonde best friend heading towards the pitch, he grinned a vicious thing with too many crooked teeth, and hurled a quaffle at Draco's head. He did a double take as Draco blinked in brief surprise before his hands raised to automatically catch it. A second later, Harry had a golf ball pelted to his right that only his reflexes enabled him to apprehend. Tossing the ball up and down, Harry followed Draco over to the Flint and tried not to imagine shoving the damn golf ball down his throat. 

  
They stopped just in front of him. Flint looked them up and down with an assessing eye, staring at Harry’s lithe frame and Draco's small one. “Hmm. Perfect build for a Seeker, Potter. You, Malfoy, look just like a Chaser. I see what Snape meant.” 

  
Harry raised an eyebrow as Draco swallowed nervously. 

  
The rest of the team surrounded them. If Harry was impressionable to nerves, he would have been sweating _buckets_ in the eye of the five players decked in rich green robes with a silver trim, sleek black brooms. The Slytherin Quidditch team made an intimidating sight. 

  
A burly Fifth Year grunted as he scanned them up and down. Draco's arm twitched by Harry’s side. He resisted the overwhelming urge to clasp his hand and never let him go. 

  
“ _Well_?” Harry asked flatly, “Are we actually going to practice or are you going to _ogle_ at me all day?” 

  
There was a shocked silence before the Fifth Year’s lips twitched, Flint laughed loudly – well, it was more like a cackle – and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get a broom then, Potter, and we're off!” 

  
Harry grabbed one of the school brooms that was off by the side, and with a smile brighter than the setting day, kicked off from the ground and into the sky. 

  
For a moment it was just he and the sun, he and the tinted light that fell upon his upturned face, casting a golden glow upon his tanned skin and catching his glasses in a blinding flash. It was the gentle breeze in his hair and the harmonious calls of nature. It was simply he and his soul, temporarily unshackled from his eternal binds. It was wondrous – flying. It never failed to make him feel free, to persuade his troubles to stay on the ground. He never realised how many doubts plagued his mind until they were gone and he was floating amongst the clouds. 

  
A whoop of glee caught his attention. 

  
_Draco_. 

  
His blonde hair flew everywhere as he soared skywards, head tilted back to expose a pale neck that was being caressed by the sunlight. His eyes were shut in bliss, a small, peaceful smile on his face. It was nice – to see him favoured by the almost hesitantly sinking sun. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry saw the rest of the team join them in the air, Flint with a much nicer look that could probably be passed as a smile. He saw the bludgers rocket towards one of the beaters – Warrington – the quaffle being tossed into the air, Flint, Draco and Adrian Pucey shooting towards it: but none of that mattered when his soul was singing as the snitch hummed across the pitch. 

  
With a lazy smile, Harry drifted higher into the air, kept an eye on the glinting ball of gold that was hovering by one of the hoops, and when he was sure he had every chance of snatching it, pressed himself to his broom and hightailed towards it. 

  
All the others saw was a blur in motion, a teasing glimmer of gold and then Harry was diving towards the ground, heart thrumming in his ears and wind whistling in his ears as fluttering wings beat against his palm. 

  
He tugged his broom up sharply, just an inch from the ground, and for a minute, there was just an astounded sort of silence before he was almost knocked off his broom by Flint and his clap on the back. 

  
“That Cup's got our name on it this year!” 

  
“ _Yes_ , Potter!” 

  
“Fuck, I think I'm crying.” 

  
“ _Brilliant_!” 

  
“Pot-ter! Pot-ter! Pot-ter!” 

  
But amongst it all, amongst Boyle's – the other beater’s – solid one-armed hug, amongst Warrington’s suspiciously shiny eyes, amongst Bletchley's – the keeper's – babbling exclamations, his eyes still sought Draco’s. He smiled a bright, beaming smile, quaffle under his arm and his usually perfect hair messy from the whipping of the wind.   
Still his eyes would always find Draco’s. Even amongst a crowd of thousands, his soul would still pull him to the other. 

  
_Always_. 

* * *

Flint skipped – quite literally skipped – to Snape’s office after practice, apparently going to inform him of the two new additions to the team. Harry suspected there was something else at play, but what did it matter when he and Draco were being jostled through the fake wall and into the common room, the laughter and hope of the rest of the team ringing like a melody. 

  
Theo looked up when they approached.

“Went well then?” he asked dryly. 

  
Their grins were the only answers he needed. 

  
They sat by the fire for a while, silly little smiles on their faces like they'd already won the Quidditch Cup. At some point the common room started to disperse. Theo stood up, half asleep, and yawned. “Night then you two. I'm going to be-be-bed.” 

  
The dying embers flickered in the fireplace. They were alone. 

  
They didn't speak. The silence that hung between them spoke more than words ever could. Draco's head dropped onto his shoulder and with a tired whisper, Draco murmured, “Tell me a story, Harry.” 

  
He smiled softly against blonde hair, head falling back against the back of the sofa.

A story. He had many of those. A story – a rhythm of words that weave together to form a tale. A story – a written biography.

_A story._

  
“How about a tale of a stone, a cloak and a wand?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know this chapter is kinda short but I've just been pushed back into school for another week and then it's Christmas break sooooo I won't be posting chapters as frequently for a week or so. Also, I really need to keep the Drarry in; I keep forgetting everything else 
> 
> :)


	11. In Which Hermione and Harry Bond and This Time it's not Over a Troll's Dead Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "TROLL! IN THE DUNGEONS - thought you ought to know..."

_Isn't it funny how_

_Day by day_

_Nothing changes_

_But when you look back_

_Everything is different._

* * *

“Stop stop stop! You're going to take someone’s eye out, and besides, you're saying it wrong: it's Levi _-o-_ sa, not levio- _sa_.” 

  
Harry paused in the middle of his sentence.

  
“ _You_ do it then if you're so clever.” 

  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll the sleeves of her robe. 

  
“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” 

  
The feather rose four feet in the air before gently dropping. 

  
“Oh _well done!_ Look here everyone: Miss Granger's done it!” 

  
Harry watched Ron scowl before he turned the other way, ears reddening. 

  
Sighing, he absently swished his wand over his feather, adding the incantation as a hasty second thought, and letting it rise a few feet before dropping it. 

  
It was Halloween and Harry had never felt so miserable. On top of a gate-crashing troll he had to worry about, he also had to make sure it looked like nothing was bothering him. It wasn't like any of his previous Halloweens when he had no memories of his parents alive, this time he had known them as people. He had heard Lily's tinkling laugh and seen James' sweet smile that he would send to his mum when he'd been up to no good. He had lived with them for a year. He had seen his mother stand before his cot with her arms flung wide and tears running rivers down her pale cheeks. He'd known Lily and James Potter, not from a mirror or a stone, but from real life. He wished desperately to see them again. _Desperately_. He even considered sneaking out of school and retrieving the Resurrection Stone from the Gaunt shack. 

  
The Great Hall would be decorated in celebration for the temporary – not that they knew that – demise of the Dark Lord, and no one would remember that ten years ago, two brave people lost their lives. No one would remember that in wake of joy, tragedy followed like an unshakable shadow. 

  
The bell rang with a trilling ring that cut through the frustrated cries of ‘ _Wingardium Leviosa_!’. Blaise glared at his unmoving feather before scowling and stomping out of the classroom. Theo was huffing every five seconds until he caught sight of Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot watching him. He winked at her before following Blaise, dispersing with the rest of the class, leaving a rather harried Draco and taunt Harry with Ron and Hermione, who were yelling at each other with no regard to anyone else. 

  
“I was only trying to help!” cried Hermione in exasperation. 

  
“I don't _want_ your help!” Ron replied vehemently, his face gradually turning red. 

  
“I didn't know that, did I?!” 

  
“You should have let my friends help me!” 

  
“What friends?!” 

  
“’ _What friends_?!’ I _have_ friends – unlike you! Nobody can stand you because you're such an interfering, bossy _know-it-all_!” 

  
Everything went silent. Draco had long since abandoned trying to look like he wasn't eavesdropping. He was goggling at them both with blown eyes. Harry, on the other hand, was staring at the way Hermione's whole body shook and her bottom lip trembled like she was holding back tears. He saw the way that one careless remark had single-handedly crumbled all her defences, leaving her small and vulnerable in front of Ron Weasley. 

  
Blinking quickly, she turned on her heel and fled from the room. 

  
Perhaps the worst thing was the way Ron hadn't realised what he'd said. Didn't realise that he'd just let the unforgivable pass from his lips. 

  
Whilst Draco stared and Flitwick squeaked out a scolding, Harry didn't even glance back before he was following Hermione out of the room.

He ran after her, noticing the way no one amongst the stiffling crowds paid attention to her shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles as she took shelter in the first-floor toilet. She slammed the door shut just as Harry reached it. He hesitated. Didn't girls want to be alone when they cried? Or was it the other way round? He always was hopeless with the female species.

“Hermione? Can I... can I come in? It's me, Harry.” 

  
The sniffles faltered before a wobbly, “Go away,” answered. 

  
Harry wavered. Did he go? Did he stay? Did he leave?

  
And then he remembered the troll. 

  
Harry opened the door. 

  
She was hunched in a little ball by the sink, bushy hair hiding her face and wand laying on the ground beside her. His heart lurched out of his chest for a second. In a way, the eleven-year-old girl on the floor was his sister. The girl that had been so keen to prove herself, she took all the electives in Third Year. The girl that was born from non-magical parents but had more magic in her little toe than a Pureblood had in their whole body. The girl that had been encased in time on a cold bed yet still gave them the answers they so badly needed. She wasn't his ‘Mione but she was Hermione Granger; the First Year that needed a friend. 

  
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down beside her and drawing his knees to his chest. 

  
“Go away, Potter,” she mumbled. 

But Harry didn't go. Not when she started crying again, not when the silence cloaked them in solitude, not even when his legs grew numb from sitting on ths wet ground for so long. 

  
“I think you're a brilliant witch,” he said softly, “I think you're clever and brave and good. I think Weasley's an idiot to shout at you when you were only trying to help. And I'm sorry for being so rude to you on the train. All my friends were sure they were going to Slytherin and I knew I was probably going there too. I'm sorry for that.” 

  
The silence whispered a thousand words neither were saying until Hermione sniffled one last time a tentatively looked up. “Thank you, Harry... I think you're amazing too.”

  
Harry smiled and caught sight of her wand lying innocently on the ground. "Whenever I feel lonely or scared or anxious, I always close my eyes and remember what makes me different from everyone else. What makes their opinions worthless and mine the only one that matters." 

  
He thought of Lily's vibrant hair and James' kind eyes. He thought of never-ending laughter and smiles that lit up the night sky. “ _Expecto patronum_.” 

  
Prongs erupted from the tip of the wand, antlers smooth and silver, fur shiny and glossy. He stood on the wet floor – hooves leaving no marks – and bowed his head towards Harry before nuzzling against Hermione. She gasped, hesitantly bringing a trembling hand up to stroke Prongs' brightly shining form, puffy red eyes widening in awe. 

  
“He's beautiful,” she breathed as Prongs tossed his antlers. 

  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, watching his dad's Animagus form prance around the room on spindly legs. "He is." He watched as silver eyes shone hazel for a second - just a _fracture_ of a second - before settling. Deep in his soul, he knew that Prongs wasn't just an animal. He was his father and mother and everything they represented. 

_Home_. 

  
And that was how Draco, Blaise and Theo found them a moment later: Hermione's arms wrapped around herself as Harry leant his head back against the cool tiles of the wall, both of them seemingly looking at thin air, only the tiniest sliver of silver whisps lingering in the midday air. 

  
Saving one from a troll was a way to make amends, but perhaps sharing something as beautiful as that had bought Harry and Hermione back together once more. 

* * *

  
The Hall was decorated with the usual bats and pumpkins and spiders, but it wasn't as grand as it once seemed. Wispy spider webs hung from the ceiling – an effort to make the muggle-borns more at home. Judging by the disdainful expression on Draco's face and the more bored than usual look on Theo's face, it certainly wasn't for the Purebloods. Sweets and treats lined all four house tables, lollies of every flavour and colour bunched in clumps with chocolate frogs scattered over the surfaces. Harry’s smile became the slightest bit real when he saw the platter of treacle tart down the First Year end of the Slytherin table. Draco exclaimed in delight when he saw the plate of éclairs topped with cream further down the table. Pansy paused mid-sentence when she caught sight of ring of doughnuts. Theo simply grinned down at it all before loading every confection possible onto his plate. 

  
Harry joined in with all the jokes and laughter, but there was a certain strain to his smile, a forcefulness to his happiness. Who _would_ want to celebrate their parent’s death day? 

  
He was just about to make an excuse and leave when Quirrell came bursting through the doors, turban askew and looking like he was about to kneel over there and then. 

  
Harry had to hand it to him, he was a brilliant actor. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't have suspected any foul play. 

  
“ _TROLL_! IN THE DUNGEONS! – thought you ought to know,” and then he slumped into a dead faint, sending the entire Hall into uproar. 

Harry rolled his eyes as he uncaringly took another Fizzing Whisbee. 

Draco froze mid bite, eyes widening impossibly before he joined in the screaming. Pansy was definitely panicking along with Blaise who looked on the verge of hyperventilating. Only Theo seemed to have retained a level head. Dumbledore sent up purple sparks and demanded silence, a sombre look on his wizened face. Gemma Farley and Terence Higgs shepherded the Slytherins together with tight expressions and gleaming Prefect badges. 

  
No one remembered that the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons. 

  
They hurried along the corridors, whispering hysterically to each other... 

  
...until Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis stopped dead in the middle of a deserted corridor. 

  
“T-Troll!”

  
_And indeed_ , it was. 

  
It was only the First Years and the two Fifth Year Prefects against an angry mountain troll. The corridor was deserted. Gemma made an odd sort of choking sound before clutching Terence's arm in fear. “Fuck- _fuck-_ what do we _do?_! What do we _fucking_ do?! This wasn't in the job descr-" 

  
She never finished her sentence. 

  
The Troll had spotted sight of them. It lumbered towards them – everybody screamed – club raised. Terence and Gemma were paralyzed in terror and the other First Years couldn't even float a _fucking feather_ so it was all down to him. To Harry. 

  
His wand leapt into his hand, vibrating with the force of Harry's magic. Adrenaline shot though his veins like a lightning bolt. _This_ was what he did. _This_ was what he was made to do. 

  
“ _Protego_!” he shouted. 

  
A shield burst from his wand, so strong it was clearly visible. Bright gold light erupted from the tip, green vines entwining with the shield until it looked able to withstand even an Unforgivable. Magic swirled a storm in the air as the urge to protect and save surged through the atmosphere. A dome protected the assembled Slytherins, the Troll bouncing off it in confusion. Everyone was staring at him but he didn't notice.

Exhilaration pounded in his blood at the prospect of an outlet, of a way to release his magic from its binds. 

  
A fleeting memory of reading about Trolls in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ flashed into mind. Impervious to most spells...

He aimed his wand at the floor just in front of the beast, his arm never faltering as europhia coursed through him once more.

“ _Confringo_!” 

With a roar, the Troll flew backwards, sharp rock slicing its skin. Its club clattered to the floor with a dull thud. Black blood ran sluggishly from its wounds, trickling thickly down the stone walls. 

_Dead_. 

  
The shield Harry erected slowly faded until it was simply one small boy with raven hair and glowing eyes, wielding a wand with his magic surrounding him like a halo. He savoured the moment. The feel of protecting- of _protection_. The Adrenaline slowly decapitated and with it, his temporary explosion of fiery joy. The grief came rushing back in malevolent earnestness with enough force to make him stagger. 

  
Gemma said a faint, “Oh,” and with the silence blown away by a thousand winds, the noise flooded in like a tsunami. 

  
“Oh my _god_ -" 

  
“Fucking Hell-" 

  
“-Harry?” 

  
“ _Damn_ , Potter-" 

  
“- _Harry_?” 

  
Numbness had stolen his limbs until he was simply standing amongst the crowd, wand loose in his hand and messy hair falling in his eyes. Luckily - or perhaps, unluckily - Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore came hurrying around the corner at that very minute. 

  
McGonagall stopped in front of their bunched group, hand over her heart and shock in her eyes, “Oh my- Albus! The Troll!” 

  
Snape came next. His gaze roamed over the Troll before settling on Harry, accusations and speculation bright in his beetle eyes. “Potter,” he said softly. Dumbledore's head snapped towards Harry. Electric blue met blazing green. He was too emotionally exhausted to defend his mind. 

  
_Have to protect them... need to save them... magic and light... roars and black blood... red... the colour of blood and war and roses... mum... dad... why did you leave me?..._

  
The Legilimency probe disappeared as abruptly as it came. “My office, Mr Potter?” 

  
“No,” Harry muttered, mustering his last grains of strength, forcing his Occlumency shields to raise and tiredly sheathing his wand, “I'm afraid I'll be unavailable for the rest of the evening.” 

  
“Mr Potter?” 

  
“I believe, Professor, that some of us may have forgotten the full events of Halloween all those years ago,” his tone grew hard and cold, eyes dull as he unflinching met Dumbledore's stern stare. “Some of us may have forgotten that my parents died ten years ago. Forgive me if I do not feel like celebrating.” 

  
Snape flinched as if struck as Dumbledore winced. 

  
“I did what was necessary to protect my classmates,” he said flatly, “I did not enjoy killing the Troll, but I do not regret my actions. Goodnight Professors.” 

  
And without another look back, Harry walked away. 

* * *

He slept in the Room of Requirement that night. 

  
He slept in the darkness, shadows everywhere without a flame in sight. Doused in darkness – just like the dead. 

He certainly felt dead with the doubts racing through his mind and memories twisting his soul viciously. 

* * *

When Harry sat down for breakfast the next morning, everyone went silent. 

  
The older Slytherins were watching him with calculating eyes. Harry didn't have to be a Legilimens to know what they were thinking. _We should watch out for the Half-blood..._

  
Half the Ravenclaws were too busy rabidly studying to stare at him, but the other half – the half that consisted of most their Quidditch team and Terry Boot – were downright gawping at him. Sure, he incarcerated a Troll, but it wasn't that brilliant to merit being goggled at. 

  
Sighing mutely, he ducked his head and got his customary jam on toast. Slowly, the noise returned and with it, his dread at confronting his friends. 

  
He looked up and prepared himself to receive disgusted looks and upturned noses and disdainful sneers and snide comments and-

  
_Why were they smiling?_

  
“Mate,” Theo said, “You're fucking cool.” 

  
Harry blinked in surprise, scrambling to find his wit, “Erm... you're not like- I don't know- er, mad?” 

  
Pansy rolled her eyes, “ _Please_ darling, If I were mad, you'd know.” 

  
“Yeah,” Draco piped, “I think you're amazing. I thought I was going to die and then you were there like-" 

  
“Shut up, darling.” 

  
“Sorry, Pans.” 

  
Harry glanced at Blaise who had been silent. He stifled a laugh. “Why's Blaise ogling at Greengrass' shirt?” 

  
Theo smirked deviously and nudged Blaise. “You're drooling a bit, mate.” 

  
Blaise flushed instantly and ducked his head. “Shut up,” he groaned as he looked anywhere but near them. 

  
Draco sighed as he bit into his croissant, “Zabini over here, has a... crush on Greengrass.” 

And it seemed the Troll was forgotten once more, swept into the tide of a thousand rumours.

  
“Shut up!” Blaise hissed, fugitively glancing at the girl sitting a few seats away from them. 

_Interesting_. 

  
Harry looked closer at her. Daphne Greengrass was a Pureblood – that much you could tell at first glance – but she shared _far_ too much resemblance with a china doll for his liking. He had dated Ginny because she was made of the tough stuff – and she had could talk to him without breaking off into giggles every five seconds. Greengrass’ hair was way too silky as well. _Who had hair that shiny?_ Well, apart from Draco, but it suited him. Greengrass’ just looked weird. 

  
Frowning, Harry bit into his toast. “She's alright, I suppose.” 

  
He got four incredulous looks for that. 

  
“’ _Alright_?’ She's like the hottest girl in the year!” 

  
“Her hair’s too black.” 

  
“’ _Her hair’s too black.'_ ” Theo repeated faintly.

  
“What are you? A parrot?” Harry snapped defensively. 

Blaise sat back as if physically reeling.

“Alright, if Daphne isn't your type-" 

  
“Oh, so it's _Daphne_ now?” 

  
“-who is?” 

  
“I don't know,” Harry scowled, “She looks like she could be my _fucking_ sister.” 

  
“Your sister.” Draco repeated. 

  
_“Yes!_ ” 

  
“Right.” 

  
Harry spent the rest of breakfast scowling at his plate and wondering why he wasn't attracted to Greengrass in any shape or form. 

* * *

  
He stood in front of the gargoyle, glaring at the floor as he paced. 

  
“Chocolate Frog, Cockroach Cluster, Bertie Botts, Acid Pops, Fizzing Whizbees, Bubble Juice, Gilly Water, Liquorice Wands, Pumpkin Juice- fucking hell- _Pumpkin Juice_?” 

  
The gargoyle swung away to reveal a spiral staircase. 

  
Harry sighed irritably. Dumbledore really was predictable. 

  
He climbed the stairs and just before he knocked on the door- 

  
“Harry! Come in.” 

  
Swearing under his breath, Harry opened the door with more force than necessary. “Professor Dumbledore.” 

  
He sat at his desk, snowy white beard lightening in the sunrays that filtered through the windows. His blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon specs that sat on his crooked nose. It had been a while since Harry had seen him properly with a beating heart. Fawkes sat on his perch, glossy, sunny colours glinting from across the room as silvery instruments sparkled and shone. He always had adored the perfect intricacy of Dumbledore's office. Somehow, it always managed to look so naturally beautiful. 

  
“Take a seat, my boy, take a seat.”

  
Harry did just that and tried not to look at the corner that he had tipped a dying man's memories into the Pensive. Tried not to look at the place where his world came crashing down around him. 

  
“I came to apologise, sir. I did not mean to be rude last night.” 

  
His eyes twinkled merrily, “Not to matter, Harry, not to matter. We all have those moments.” 

  
An awkward air settled around them. Harry wished for the ground to fucking swallow him up. _Why_ must he always listen to impulsiveness? 

  
“How are you finding your classes, Harry?” 

  
He latched onto the new subject with profound gratefulness, “Very much, sir. Professor McGonagall has said I'm advanced for my age and Professor Flitwick finds delight in challenging me. Professor Snape doesn't like me much but that's too be expected. What with the feud he had with my father. I do believe his ideals reside in the fact that the crimes of the father are being paid for by the son.” 

  
The old wizard’s eyes sharpened. “What do you know about your father and Professor Snape, Harry?” 

  
Harry's tone became airily idle as he leant back casually and watched the portraits of all the old head teachers titter amongst themselves. “My father was a bully before he finally saw sense. His ire was forced upon little Severus Snape who was taunted mercilessly by four Gryffindors. A stunt by Sirius Black nearly had him buried six feet under via werewolf and that was that.” 

  
A troubled look came across Dumbledore's face as he peered closer at Harry with furrowed brows. “I see. How is Slytherin House treating you so far?” 

  
_A valiant change in the subject._

  
“Very well, sir. The older years were sceptical but I am sure I've proven myself.” 

  
Dumbledore hummed, looking just a few years senior. 

  
_Raising him like a pig for slaughter..._

  
_Don't tell me now that you've grown to care for the boy, Severus..._

  
_A doe bounding gracefully around the room... glassy blue eyes and greasy black hair..._

  
_‘After all this time?’_

  
_A whisper, no higher than a low murmur... ‘Always,’_

  
Harry stood up abruptly. “I must be going now, Professor. McGonagall's assigned an essay I must complete.” 

  
And without waiting for conformation, he fled from the room, hearing the gargoyle slowly shut behind him with the graveling slide of stone on stone, and trying not to let the past flood the present as he ran through the dungeons. 


	12. In Which Flint is Obsessed, Harry is Freezing, and Quirrell Becomes a Nuisance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Potter's caught the snitch!"

_If the moon smiled,_

_He would resemble you._

_You leave the same impression_

_Of something beautiful,_

_But annihilating._

* * *

As October faded into November and the first few flakes of snow fell upon the dewy grass, Quidditch became everyone's obsession once more. The first match of the year was coming up and Flint had become almost fanatical and, if the rumours were true and Harry remembered correctly, so had Oliver Wood. Rain or shine, the Slytherin Quidditch team were dragged up at all hours just to cram in an extra few hours of training. A week before the big match of Slytherin versus Gryffindor found Harry freezing his arse off at five o'clock in the morning as he huddled with Draco and stood in front of Flint, the rest of the team shivering beside them. 

  
Flint, the absolute _dickhead_ , had barged into their dorm room earlier that morning – well, it was still night, really – and shook he and Draco awake just so they could catch hyperthermia in the biting November weather. The first time he did it, Harry thought it was hilarious, especially when Draco tumbled out of his bed at the sight of the burly Fifth Year looming over him, but now, now he wished more than anything just to be back in the warm. 

  
“Flint,” Cassius Warrington said through chattering teeth, “If you drag me out of bed _one more time_ , I _swear_ I'll jump off the Astronomy Tower just to spite you.” 

  
Lucas Boyle nodded his head jerkily in agreement, lips taking a blue tinge. 

  
“Nonsense,” Flint smiled with crooked teeth, “It's perfectly warm out here,” 

  
Harry nearly burst into tears right there. 

  
“And besides, we need to practice if we want to beat Gryffindor. I heard Wood's brought in a professional to help them.” 

  
Draco's pale face seemed as white as the snow behind him. Harry sighed. “Wood hasn't brought in a professional, Flint. We've practiced so much; I've started dreaming of catching the snitch in my _sleep_. Now for fucks sake, let me go get a coffee or something before I _freeze_ to fucking death.”

  
Adrian Pucey nodded feverently in agreement, pulling his green robes tighter around himself. 

  
Flint wavered. Harry pressed his advantage.

“We could get ill if we play in the cold weather for too long and then we'd have to bring in subs that haven't trained like we have and then Gryffindor would win and _then_ -" 

  
“Alright, alright. Go get your breakfasts. Meet back here in a few hours.” He finally relented.

  
Harry had never been more thankful in his entire life. 

  
He and Draco trudged back up to the school, the lights starting to flicker in the windows as the inhabitants started to wake. Harry's breath made smoky puffs of air in front of him before it disseminated into the cloaked sky. The winter months at Hogwarts always were the far end of cold. Watching the way the snow fell as he sat by the crackling fire used to be Harry's favourite pastime in Gryffindor Tower. The spirt of Christmas always seemed to be so alive amongst the warm red and golds. 

  
“I,” Draco declared, “Am going to have a nice hot shower and sleep for another hour.” 

  
“Fuck that. I'm sleeping all day.” 

  
Draco laughed, pulling a green and silver scarf out of his pocket and wrapping it around his neck, shoving his pink hands into his pockets. “I would too, but Sev would murder me.” 

  
It was still weird hearing Draco refer to the fabled dungeon bat as ‘ _Sev_ ', but after getting over the initial shock of hearing Snape was his godfather, Harry only twitched minutely at the mention. It was simply wrong to think of Severus Snape bouncing a child on his knee and doing something other than scowling over a cauldron. He shuddered to think. 

  
His skill in Potions had not improved, even with Draco doing everything _but_ tying him to a chair in the library and drilling information into his poor mind. At random intervals in the day, Draco would ask an arbitrary question about the intervals a draught must be stirred at, ingredients that cannot be combined and cauldrons that don’t react well with certain components. His theoretical knowledge had shot through the roof, but every time he stood by a cauldron with constituents surrounding him, all that learned information temporarily evaded him. Snape always dismissed the class with a severe scowl and a bulging vein in his forehead as he perforated holes in the back of Harry’s head. 

  
Their group of six had taken to studying together. Pansy was McGonagall’s clear favourite and absolutely excelled at Transfiguration. Her enthusiasm for the subject only made her a better teacher, managing to inspire even Theo, who seemed unaffectedly indifferent to anything that wasn't flirting with the female species. Already Harry had overhead a gaggle of Hufflepuff's giggling over how ‘ _hot_ ' Theo was. _Really_ , was he that obsessed over girls in his first First Year? 

  
Blaise was surprisingly decent at Herbology, second only to Neville who claimed first place. Whenever they had an essay on comparing plants, Blaise was the one you went to. Who needed a dusty encyclopedia when you had a living one just a question away?

  
Draco topped them all at Potions – no surprises there – and seemingly couldn't help himself from correcting them whenever they got something wrong. He’d watch Harry write his essay with an oddly pained expression and then snatch it up and scribble over it. Harry had taken to doing it deliberately, just so he could watch that loopy cursive cross out his own. 

  
Harry himself aced Defence. Somehow, to the extreme bafflement of his friends, he understood what Quirrell was saying even through his ridiculously fake stutter. Honestly, there was only so much dribble about vampires and _zombies_ – they didn't even _exist_ outside of muggle cartoons! - that one could take. He'd taken to copying out of his textbooks just to have suitable notes in case he needed them for future exams. 

  
Defence Against the Dark Arts was a struggle in itself. Being so close to the possessed Quirrell for extended amounts of time wrecked absolute havoc on his scar. All his focus went into maintaining his Occlumency shields and keeping the sharp, stabbing pains away. The problem was, his mental barriers were designed to thwart Legilimency attacks, not soul fragments that stuck to him like glue. The whole point of him walking into Death's arms was to get rid of it, but just like the rest of him, Tom Riddle’s horcrux was a stubborn bastard. 

  
They crossed the threshold of the castle at last. Harry practically melted as warmth rushed to greet his frozen skin like an embrace. They headed towards the dungeons, avoided Peeves on the way, and finally, _finally_ Harry was free to collapse in front of the fire and have nice, long shower... and then he had to do his seven-inch Astronomy essay. 

  
Harry groaned. 

* * *

  
The week passed in a jumble of lessons and homework and even more practice until it was Saturday: the first Quidditch game of the year. 

  
Draco had woken up ashen faced and jumping at the slightest noise, only having a sip of Pumpkin Juice for breakfast. Even then he looked about to faint. Harry was only marginally better. He managed half a bowl of cereal before feeling like he was going to hurl. After playing so many games, he knew the nerves were normal; even Flint was toying with his plate of scrambled egg, looking rather queasy. They'd all trained hard for the match and even if they didn't win, they wouldn't go down without a fight. 

  
Harry had been trying to find out who Gryffindor’s Seeker was, but with no such luck. He'd heard all sorts of crazy rumours. One younger Ravenclaw had even said _McGonagall_ was playing. 

  
He'd read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for the thousandth time in an effort to quell his churning mind, but he'd read it so many times, he could recite the seven hundred ways to commit a foul in his sleep. Draco had coped by snapping at anyone that came near him like a rabid dog - a comparison Harry tried not to dwell on because it made him laugh helplessly. 

  
When the clock chimed ten, Flint stood up precipitately and with him, the Slytherin team followed to mixed applause and boos. Blaise stuck his thumbs up with a reassuring smile as Pansy grinned at them and shouted, “I'll make sure you have roses at your funeral, Draco darling!” making Draco pale further and turn a faint green. Harry would have found it amusing if he wasn't sick with nerves himself. 

  
They made their way to the changing rooms, picking their brooms up on the way and slinging them over their shoulders, or, in Harry's case, stroking the smooth golden lettering. He smiled at the memory of receiving his broom. 

  
As soon as his place on the Slytherin team had been secured, the next morning had found three regal looking eagles and Hedwig delivering a long package to him a breakfast. He could tell by the distinct shape what it was, as could Draco. They'd unwrapped their respective gifts to reveal matching Nimbus Two Thousand’s to the obvious envy of their surrounding classmates. Apparently, Draco had written to his father about their placement on the team and Lucius had taken it upon himself to buy them brooms. Harry wasn’t as naïve to not know that there was a deeper meaning to the brooms. No matter how rich, no one bought someone they'd only met fleeting such an expensive gift. 

  
_But_ , he thought as he fondly thumbed the glossy wood, _I am glad to have you back in my hands._

  
He'd never lost a match on his old one until Dementors swarmed the pitch and it'd met it's end in the form of the Whomping Willow. He missed the whipping speed of his Firebolt and the smooth manoeuvres, but the Nimbus would always be his first broom. 

  
Flint stood in front of them, running assessing eyes over all of them. “Alright. This is it. The game of the year. All eyes will be on us. Remember, no fouls, no dodgy moves. Don't give them a reason to dish out penalties. Malfoy, Pucey - You're both brilliant. Don't hesitate. Warrington, Boyle – I don't give a shit who you hit as long as it isn't one of us. Bletchley – never leave a hoop unintended. I don't care if you have to jump off your broom to save the quaffle. Potter... Potter you're fucking amazing. Just catch the damn snitch and prove to them all you might be a First Year but you can still play professional. Alright? Alright.” 

  
Harry nodded firmly, shoving his nerves to the very back of his mind. They were ready for it. They could do it. _He_ could do it. 

  
Flint marched them out of the pitch and for a moment, Harry went deaf.

  
The Slytherin quarter of the stands were exploding with noise and hisses. One of the older years had even charmed a snake to slither translucently over the pitch as green and silver roiled like a wave. A grin was pulled onto his face and his back straightened. He was proud to be a Slytherin, to be part of the massive family they all made. All of a sudden, their unspoken proverb made sense. 

  
_Slytherins look out for their own._

  
And they did. That much was clear as all the House cheered and screamed in an overwhelming show of unity. Being a snake didn't mean being evil; it meant being part of a family that always had each other’s backs, always did what was necessary to protect theirs, even if it meant using questionable means. 

  
_Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends._

  
The Gryffindors came out next – Harry was guiltily gleeful to notice their cheer was just a notch quieter – and he could finally hear Madame Hooch as the roars subsided. 

  
“Captains, shake hands.” 

  
Flint and Wood did, looking as if they wanted nothing more than to crush each other. 

  
Harry shared a look with Draco and quickly looked away to stop the borderline hysterical laugh that threatened to spill from his lips. Anxiety always did make him delirious. 

  
“Now I want a nice clean game from _all_ of you.” 

  
He caught Flint's eye roll even if Hooch didn't.

  
“Mount your brooms, please.” 

  
Harry slid onto his hovering Nimbus Two Thousand and with a sharp blow of her silver whistle, the game had began. 

  
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

  
Harry grinned at Lee Jordan's familiar voice. 

  
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying like an eagle up there -- he's going to score – Wood dives – misses – _SLYTHERIN SCORE!”_

  
The green portion of the stands erupted into noise like a tidal wave. Harry smiled before glancing at the opposing Seeker- 

  
And- 

And-

  
It was Cormac McLaggen. 

  
Harry nearly fell off his broom. 

  
McLaggen - _McLaggen_?! – Gryffindor Seeker? The guy had knocked him out in the middle of a match someone else’s Beaters bat. It was _laughable_ to think he could play such an important role as Seeker.

Swallowing his incredulity, Harry turned back to the game and scoured the skies for the familiar glint of gold. 

  
“That's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Pucey, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Draco Malfoy speeding off toward the goal posts, _ooh_ nice doge – avoids the Bludger sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, Malfoy still in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off he goes – he sure can fly! -- dodges a second speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead – come on Wood, save it -- Keeper Wood dives -- misses -- _SLYTHERIN SCORE!"_

  
Harry smiled as he pulled his broom higher above the pitch, squinting for that speck of gold. McLaggen’s tactic seemed to be to just ignore everyone else and drift lazily by the goalposts, the absolute _idiot_. 

  
A bludger came rocketing towards him – he rolled under it, letting it fly over his head – as Boyle appeared out of nowhere and swung his bat furiously at it, sending the bludger barrelling at Katie Bell and making her drop the quaffle into Adrian’s waiting hands. 

  
“All right there, Potter?!” he grinned before he flew away to intercept the next bludger. 

  
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Flint ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

  
McLaggen almost fell off his broom as his head whipped around. It was too late though; Harry was already tearing off to the left where the snitch was teasingly hovering. The Chasers were forced to scatter as he tore through their formation, flattening himself to his broom – almost melting into the wood – and very nearly plummeting to the ground. 

  
He could see it. Just a _millimetre_ away- 

  
A bludger came hurtling towards him, far too close to dodge. Inwardly swearing, Harry tugged his broom backwards and quite literally back flipped in the air, the bludger heading off for its next victim. But in all the confusion, the snitch had vanished. He really wanted to whip out his wand that was stuffed in his robes and hex George Weasley off his broom. 

  
“- And did you _see_ that?! Seeker Harry Potter of Slytherin just _flawlessly_ pulled off a professional Seeker manoeuvre! -” 

  
Lee was still ranting about his prowess minutes later, even when play had resumed once more and both sets of Chasers upped their game. 

  
“- according to _Dangerous Divergent Tactics and How to-_ " 

  
“Jordan!” 

  
“- _Practice Them_ , the Flip by Flip is-" 

  
“Malfoy in possession!” McGonagall said loudly. 

  
“Oh- yeah- sorry Professor- Chaser Malfoy of Slytherin with the quaffle – passes to Pucey – and there's Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – intercepts – to Spinnet – look at her go! – Keeper Bletchley dives- _GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”_

  
Groans rose from the Slytherin stands, only to be drowned out by the deafening shouts and applause from the red and gold quarter of the stands. 

  
But Harry barely noticed. He’d just seen a glint of gold and wings by the Gryffindor goalposts- 

  
He dived, the wind rushing past his ears, shooting like a bullet towards the ground, hand outstretched- 

  
He had just a seconds warning to level his broom before it happened. 

  
His whole body bucked forward, broom spasming beneath him as he held on like his life depended on it. 

  
Fuck- _fuck_ \- fucking _shit_ -

  
In all the excitement he had forgot about _fucking_ Quirrell. 

  
He clung on as it gave a sudden, ferocious lurch, one of his hands slipping as perspiration dampened his skin. 

  
Flint had abandoned the quaffle to try and haul him up, but every time he did, his broom rose another meter until he was high enough that should he fall, every bone in his body would shatter into a thousand pieces. 

  
It happened again- his hand slipped- _fucking hell,_ he was actually going to _die_ out here. _He hadn't even caught the snitch!_

  
And then, thank whoever it was that broke the connection, it all stopped. His broom stilled, completely back under his control, as he swung his leg over the wood and readjusted his grip, sent a shaky smile towards a pale Draco, and with trembling fingers, snatched the snitch from where it was hovering just in front of his nose. 

  
“I don't believe it- Potter catches the snitch! Slytherin win one hundred and seventy to ten!” 

  
And then Harry was being clapped on the back by his teammates, hugged tightly by a trembling Draco and embraced by all his friends, the first game of the season so full of drama, it could have given Aunt Petunia’s _Coronation Street_ a run for its money. 

* * *

  
Later, when they all made it back to the common room and the rest of the house were partying like they'd already won the Cup, Pansy pulled him away from his Butterbeer and a giggling Tracey Davis – who seemed to have had a bit too much Giggle Water – and told him all about how she'd cursed Snape's hair to strangle him. 

  
Apparently, she and Blaise had seen Snape muttering under his breath and came to the wrong conclusion. Not that Harry was complaining. Whilst blue in the face and thrashing around, Snape had accidentally knocked over Quirrell, effectively giving Harry back his broom's control. 

  
Pansy, face taunt with uncharacteristic worry, had pulled him into the tightest hug he'd ever had, and with a suspiciously thick voice, whispered, “Don't _ever_ do that again!” 

  
Harry hugged her back, letting her glossy black bob tickle his neck, and smiled. 

  
He looked at Draco who was laughing with Blaise; looked at Theo who looked to be in the middle of flirting with a Second Year; and let the warm feeling envelope him. 

  
It was nice to have a family once more. 


	13. In which Hagrid Hatches a Dragon, Harry has a Crisis and Ruins his Friends' Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look! Norbert knows 'is Mummy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, yes I know Norbert (or, Norberta) was technically meant to be introduced after Christmas like in the original series, but by the time I realised, I'd already started writing this chapter. It's not the best and it's not the longest but I had to stop writing for a few days because if Christmas and _then_ my birthday on the 1st if January... this chapter litterally hasn't had a single edit done to it. Anyways, happy belated Christmas (or Yule, as I like to call it) 
> 
> :)

_Dance with the waves,_

_Move with the sea._

_Let the rhythm of the water,_

_Set your soul free._

* * *

"Harry..." 

_Go away..._

Consciousness tried to tug him to the surface but his clinging desire to remain in oblivion held.

“Harry, wake up...”

The grip was stronger now, persistent. He tried to shrug it off but his movements were too sluggish, like trying to run a marathon through water. The warmth was becoming distant as the coldness tugged forcefully.

“ _Harry James Potter! Wake up before I get Madame Pince over here!”_

With a jerk, the dream slipped through his fingers like sand and he was looking up at a very irrate Gryffindor girl.

“Huh- wha-? Hermione?” he said intelligently.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking into the seat next to him and taking the book that was stuck to the side of his face. “ _Honestly_ , you sleep like the dead.”

Harry tried not to think about the lovely dream he had and how the girl sitting across from him had ruthlessly torn him away from it. He swore every generation of that girl got evermore vicious. “Yeah well, it was a nice dream. Now what do you want. I'm bloody tired.”

She sighed and let a large, leather bound book thump to the table. “Well, you somehow seemed to had fallen asleep in a library of all places – _blasphemy_ , I tell you – so I took it upon myself to wake you up before Pince came around and hexed your shoes to chase you out. Oh, and I just saw Hagrid smuggling a book about dragons to his cabin.”

Harry let his head fall into his arms and groaned. “Not again.”

“I know. I burned your essay, by the way. It was atrocious.”

“That was the point,” Harry whined sleepily, “I was going to give it to Snape and see if he'd actually explode. Maybe I would of got Special Services to the School." 

She sniffed, “I honestly don't understand why you two hate each other so much. Me and Pansy used to despise each other- look at us now!”

 _Yes_ , Harry thought through his haze of lingering tiredness, _look at you now._

Since The Great Troll Invasion of ’91, as he’d taken to calling it, Pansy and Hermione had apparently bumped into each other in the corridor and done a whole one eighty with their relationship. Pansy managed to look past her automatic prejudice on blood purity and see the benefits of two of the smartest witches of the age working together. Hermione had slowly changed her mannerisms since being around the other girl so much, and as a result, didn't boss people around as often as she did before. It seemed she couldn't help herself when she saw one of the other First Year Slytherins neglecting their homework for other activities. One memorable evening, Harry watched her shout at Theo when he musingly said he'd bunk off Transfiguration in favour of watching a group of Third Year Ravenclaws. What followed was a lecture on how 'women were not objects to be ogled at by the likes of immature boys.'

Harry had to hide his face behind ‘ _Charms for the Charmingly Considerate’_ so he didn't collapse with laughter like Draco was.

On the occasion he joined them whilst studying, he'd end up getting lost as soon as they started debating. One time it was over the efficiency of the full body-bind, the other whether someone could die over a metaphorical broken heart. It was like watching a particularly bipolar tennis match.

“What do you think we should do about Hagrid?” Hermione asked, bringing his attention to her once more. “I've visited his hut a few times and he seemed rather nice... it's just,” she lowered her voice, “I know he has a liking for dangerous animals and if he _has_ got a dragon...”

Harry rubbed the last few bits of sleep from his eyes and yawned. He was getting way too old to deal with this shit, "I'll go and speak to him this afternoon.”

“ _We_ will go and speak to him this afternoon,” she said firmly as she stood up, “Oh, I meant to ask you; do you know anyone named Nicolas Flamel?”

If Harry wasn't awake by then, he certainly was now. 

“Flamel? Why'd you want to know about him?”

Hermione shifted guiltily. “I overhead Ron Weasley telling Neville Longbottom about the Cerberus he'd seen on the third floor so I asked Hagrid about it. He- er- mentioned someone called Flamel.”

 _Fuck_.

He could bluff and say he had no clue who he was, or he could tell her...

When did his life become so _difficult_?

Even if he didn't tell her, she'd eventually find out for herself and perhaps that would be even worse. Hermione was simply naturally curious. Any knowledge she couldn't recover, she'd search for, until, like a cat would a mouse, she'd corner it at last.

“Alchemist,” Harry said finally, ignoring the way her eyes widened in recognition, “The only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone – an elixir that grants immortality and can turn lead into gold. That’s what Fluffy’s guarding.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “Wow.”

“Don't go looking, Hermione. The game is far bigger than what you think. The King is a pawn in his own game."

Eyes as wide as saucers, she nodded and hurried off to the section at the far side of the library labelled ‘ _Alchemy and Alchemists’._

Harry watched her go with foreboding dread curling around his heart and with the distinct feeling that his cryptic caution hadn't cautioned her at all.

Merlin, he hated Gryffindors.

How he ever was one was beyond him.

* * *

That afternoon when lessons had finished for the day - they'd been learning Colour-Changing Charms and Harry still had a slightly violet tinge to his skin – he and Hermione made their way down to Hagrid’s hut. Draco, after hearing that Harry was prepared to venture out in the cold weather with only a mild warming charm, had wrapped him up with nearly every scarf and coat in their dorm. As a result, Harry was practically waddling as Hermione looked everywhere but him with her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes alight with amusement.

“I never would of thought Draco was such a mother hen.”

Harry, with fifteen scarves wrapped around his mouth, could only grunt in reply.

Hagrid's hut sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, puffs of smoke rising from the chimney. He could see the light on in the windows and Fang's loud barks. It made his heart ache with the old familiarity it bought.

Hermione rapped on the door, automatically taking a step back as it flung open and Fang came bounding out.

“Come back, Fang! Back!”

Hagrid yanked the dog back by his collar and smiled at them from behind his bushy beard. “Hermione! Harry! Lovely ter see yeh both! Come in, come in.”

Harry did, exhaling in relief as he hurriedly peeled layer after layer off of himself until he was left in his school robes. He swept his hair out of his eyes and smiled at Hagrid.

Unlike last time, he never received an invitation for tea. Harry hadn't properly seen Hagrid since Diagon Alley. He reckoned the half-giant was embarrassed about abandoning him in favour of a glass of Firewhiskey.

“Make yerselves at home,” he said jovially, offering them rock cakes that Harry discreetly fed to Fang under the table.

After half an hour, Harry heard it; a constant tapping from in the fireplace.

“Hagrid,” he said sharply, “What's that?”

At least he had the gall to look slightly guilty, “Ah, don’t mind that... jus' a project I'm workin’ on.”

“A project,” Hermione repeated flatly.

“Yeah! Yeah, a project. It's- er-"

“A dragon egg.” Harry said blandly.

Hermione gasped, eyes darting to the spindly book laying carelessly across the table. The title, emblazed in bold letters, read ‘ _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit'_. Harry wanted to smack himself. How was he to deal with a dragon on top of stalking Quirrell and training non stop for Quidditch? He didn't have Charlie Weasley to contact this time and the blasted thing could hardly be kept in the forest. It would be like Grawp all over again.

“Hagrid,” he admonished as gently as possible, “You live in a wooden hut.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, finding her voice once more, “A dragon can grow up to five meters a day! Not to mention that they start breathing fire when they reach a month old! You must know you can't keep it!”

But Hagrid, _Hagrid_ that had a love for all dangerous beasts, wasn’t listening. He had moved nearer the fire to fondly stroke the gleaming black egg that sat almost mockingly in the fire.

Now Harry had another problem to add to the ever growing list. Somehow he had to buy Christmas presents for his friends, write his way through the thousand essays piled on his desk, follow Quirrell and wean Hagrid away from his new pet dragon like one would a drug addict.

“You know, before I made friends with you, my life was pretty normal,” Hermione said as they made their way back to the castle.

Harry shimmered out of another coat. “Normal is overrated. Being different is cool.”

“Yes,” she said affectionately as she glanced at him, “it is.”

Harry smiled back, even as the snow sept into his socks and the hems of his robes became heavier.

He waved goodbye to Hermione at Gryffindor Tower, ignored the mistrustful glares he got, and trailed towards the Slytherin common room, nose as red as a reindeer. 

As soon as he got to his dorm room, he saw Draco sat cross-legged on his bed, muttering to himself as he read through a sheet of parchment. Draco looked up and scowled, waved the parchment around and said an indigent, “You call this an essay, Potter? My house-elves could write better than this.”

Harry chucked the bundle of coats and scarves and gloves onto his bed and flopped down next to Draco, grinning as he saw the neat script crossing out his own.

“Your house-elves must be very literate then.”

Draco glared at him before his lips twitched and he was smiling. “Honestly, Harry, I'm surprised they haven't kicked you out yet.”

“I _wonder_.”

“Shut up, you git.”

“Alright, Barbie.”

“What's a Barbie?”

“You.”

* * *

When the dragon hatched and Harry still didn’t have a plan, he was just about ready to tear his hair out.

As soon as he got Hagrid's happily scrawled note of _it's hatching_ at breakfast, Harry's mind had been spinning and whirling for ideas that had became more ludicrous as the day wore on. Snape could of chucked a cauldron at his head and he wouldn't of noticed. Several times Draco had to elbow him to attain his attention. 

Finally, when the sun fell and the sky darkened, Harry met with Hermione.

The exchanged a look before heading down to Hagrid’s hut. All the curtains were closed with a strange orange glow emitting from the cracks in the windows.

“Oh god,” Hermione breathed before walking quicker, “I just don't know what to do. I mean, he can't keep it, but I haven't got a clue how to convince him to give it up.”

“One of the Weasleys work with dragons in Romania but how to get the thing to a travelling distance... I don't know.”

“We could tell a teacher-"

“Are you mad? Hagrid would be carted off to Azkaban in _seconds_. Dragon breeding's the most _illegal_ thing you can do- apart from killing someone that is.”

“Well what are we meant to do then?! He lives in a _wooden hut_ by a _forest_!”

“Don't look at me! I don't know!” Harry hissed, tapping on the window and shushing Hermione.

The door flung open revealing a sweaty but beaming Hagrid.

“Harry! Hermione!”

“Hagrid,” Harry greeted as he stepped inside, instantly casting a Cooling Charm as swelteringly hot air rushed to welcome him. His nose wrinkled as the metallic scent of blood and raw meat assaulted his senses. God, he hated dragons.

His eyes immediately sought the palm-sized thing on the table and ironically remembered his miniature Hungarian Horntail model.

But that was no harmless lump of animated plastic; this was a living, breathing- _fire-breathing_ – dragon that had just hatched and was looking rather hungrily at their exposed skin. Cracked shells and suspiciously metallic liquid surrounded it in a nest and Harry suddenly remembered that this was an illegal beast that could burn them all to ashes with one wrong move.

“Isn't ‘e beau-ter-ful!”

“Yes,” Harry said, lying through his teeth, “Simply _gorgeous_.”

Hagrid beamed.

Hermione politely cleared her throat. “Er- Hagrid...” she trailed off, visibly struggling on how to place all emotions into words, “We – I – er- well- that is to say-"

Harry cut her off, placing a charmingly fake smile on his face, “I know how much you love Norbert, Hagrid, but I've researched dragons and-" he made a show of looking distinctively sorrowful, “I heard that a Norwegian Ridgeback needs to grow up with it's own kind.”

The smile on Hagrid’s face dimmed, “’er own kind?”

“Yes... I read-" Harry scrambled for some made up book name, “- _Divine Dragons and How They Live_ and it said that without one of its own kind, the dragon would die really slowly and really painfully.”

Hermione cast him a doubtful look before nodding reluctantly at Hagrid, “Give us a few days, Hagrid, and we'll make a home for him in the Forbidden Forest so that when he's old enough, he can fly off and join his own kind. You can visit him all the time!”

Hagrid sniffled before lightly stroking Norbert. Harry pretended he didn't see the suspiciously wet eyes.

It took a bit more convincing, and, just as Harry was about to consider using emotional blackmail, Hagrid yielded.

“Alrigh', alrigh'. But- but I can visit ‘im - righ'?”

“Of course,” said Hermione, smiling warmly.

They exchanged glances as they trudged back up the school, huddled under Harry's Invisibility Cloak and sneaking past a prowling Mrs Norris, Filch at her heels. Harry very suddenly came to the realisation that Norbert had been sold a whole month early. Did that mean the Stone would be stolen far sooner, as well? All too soon Quirrell became more than a distant figure on the horizon; all too soon the threat seemed all the more real.

A very troubled Harry Potter slid into bed that evening; dreams of glinting red eyes and flashing green lights haunting his sleep as his friends exchanged worried looks.

The light at the tip of his wand slowly faded until, at midnight, it distinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

* * *

The next morning found Harry, Hermione, and a dragged along Draco in the secluded depths of the Dark Forest.

Hermione had cheerfully trawled them with her, ignored Draco's whines that ‘ _there are werewolves in here and why am I being roped into this?’_ and glared at Harry when he asked her if she knew where she was going. (She didn't.) They had hastily passed the Acromantula colony, quickly sprinted past the brawl of Pixies and stared at a clump of unicorns before they finally came to a silent clearing that looked able to raise a dragon. It wasn't until Harry looked up that he realised why the clearing was so familiar to him.

_Harry Potter... the Boy-Who-Lived... come to die..._

He could feel his wand by his chest and the cloak stuffed in his pocket... He could feel the fear swallowing his senses, leaving only the suffocating thought of _I must die_... He could feel the blindingly beautiful green light rushing towards him and yet, he did not truly die.

He could feel the way Death was so firmly twined with Life, one could not tell them apart.

He stood there for only a second, staring at the last place he had faced down Lord Voldemort, and yet it felt like eternity.

“- and Norbert will have plenty of room to stretch his wings. He can grow and-"

Hermione's words cut down the foul memories with the swiftness of a knife. Breathing in sharply, Harry licked his dry lips and let out a steady exhale. Plastering a smile onto his rather pale face, he stepped forward and slid seamlessly into the conversation.

Eventually, Hermione stopped in the middle of the clearing, a frown on her face as she glanced around. “Do you think we should add a few toys for her?”

He and Draco shared a look.

“I'm sure I can Transfigure a few things.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, “I can ask mother to order a few fire-proof blankets...”

Hermione beamed at them – a smile that only widened as she watched Harry grumble his way through turning leaves into chew-toys and pebbles into pillows.

* * *

Pansy, Blaise and Theo were waiting for them when they got back to the common room. Harry decided they were being shifty when he noticed their too innocent eyes and rather conspicuous book-shaped bulges in their robes.

“Ah! Harry, Draco! So good to- er- see you!” Blaise said, grinning charmingly.

Harry laughed at them as he tossed his coat by the fire – a Second Year girl scowled at him – and sank into his favourite armchair. He slung an arm around a rather uncomfortable looking Pansy and smiled coyly at her. “Pansy, _darling_ , no need to look so shifty. In _fact_...” he leaned closer and stifled a smirk at her deer-in-headlights expression. He glanced at her reddening cheeks and quickly snatched the parchment from her hands and leaned back again, dancing from her lunge, in one fluid motion.

They all gaped at him as he teasingly levitated the parchment from their reach, and read, in a fake, high voice, “ ‘ _Christmas presents for Harry- a scarf-‘_ Sorry, Pans. I'm afraid scarves are more Draco’s thing, _‘-the latest edition of PlayWitch-'_ “ he threw Theo a smirk, “Very considerate of you, but unfortunately I must decline. It is-" he paused for dramatic effect, “-unbecoming for such an innocent little boy like me to gawk at some poor woman triple my age.” He glanced back at the other listed ideas and scoffed, “I should offer you to Filch as a Christmas Gift for this. Here's me, _draining_ my Gringotts Vault on you miserable bastards when I could be buying a nice villa in France and getting a one-way ticket to the Veela hotspot.” He shook his head theatrically, “ _Fiends_ , the lot of you.”

And with a sniff, he incinerated their abysmal attempt at a list and strode from the room, leaving Theo to roll his eyes, Blaise to gawp, Pansy to stare and Draco to wonder what an earth just happened.

Harry suddenly popped his head back around the entrance to the common room and winked at them. “I was only joking - I do need a new copy of PlayWitch.”

Theo laughed.


	14. In which Christmas takes over Hogwarts, Voldemort gets pelted by snowballs and Harry goes Insane over a Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just a warning.  
> I am obsessed with the Hallows and the Tale of the Three Brothers so this story will include quite a few references. If you don't like it, don't read it.  
> All right, bye for now.

_The sunset melts into the waves_

_the colours fade into the sea_

_and it makes me wonder_

_if you'd ever drown in love_

_with me_

* * *

As tinsel began lining the halls and baubles began decorating the freshly bought trees, Christmas crept upon Hogwarts.

Harry had immediately signed his name on the list for staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, an action that had a few making snide comments about not being wanted. He didn’t mind much; a Christmas at Hogwarts was far better than a Christmas at the Dursleys. Only he and a scowling Seventh Year girl were staying for Slytherin. Draco, Blaise, Theo and Pansy were all looking forward to going home and after seeing his name on the list, offered a place at one of theirs, but Harry declined. The holidays at Hogwarts, although lonely, were simply _magical_ and why would he go back to the Dursleys when he was already home?

And so, once the scarlet body of the Express let out a last puff of steam that clouded in the cold air and merry laughter echoed like a ghost, Harry walked back up to the castle, gloved hands buried in his pockets and a green and silver scarf wrapped around hid neck. He stopped on the way to check on Norbert – or Norberta, she _was_ a girl after all – and after seeing the grumpy dragon huffing smoke, quickly retreated. He, Hermione and Draco had successfully smuggled her from a sobbing Hagrid’s Hut and into her homey looking clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Without the aid of the Invisibility Cloak, they had to rely on being as stealthy as possible. Perhaps stealthy to the point of paranoia. After the millionth time of Harry jumping every time a twig snapped, Draco had trapped him in a full body bind and dragged him along. Let it be said that as soon as the spell fell apart, Harry had cursed Draco’s platinum locks a violent Weasley red that had the First Year Slytherin boys room leaking wails that could have rivalled Moaning Myrtle’s.

Harry bumped into Hagrid just inside the Entrance Hall, scattering Pine needles everywhere. After subtly levitating the tree back into the half-giant’s arms and exasperatingly telling Weasley – _Ron_ – that he didn’t do it deliberately and pointedly ignoring the jibes about him staying over the holidays, he set off to hunt down Hermione. The irritating girl was probably in the library sniffing out information on Nicolas Flamel and making his life harder than it already was. Indeed, as soon as he stepped into the foothold of the legendary Hogwarts library, he spotted her signature bushy hair peeking out from behind the Magical Creatures section. Grinning to himself, Harry snuck behind the shelves and slung an arm around her shoulder, smothering a laugh at how she simultaneously jumped ten foot in the air, tried to cram the book out of sight and also wriggle out of his grip.

“Harry!” She exclaimed, her voice a higher pitch than usual, “What’re you doing here?”

Harry smiled teasingly and leant closer, never breaking eye contact until he quickly lunged for the book and grabbed it from her hands before she could so much as blink. He hummed thoughtfully as he read the title, and with another charming smile at the furious Gryffindor girl, flipped the dog-eared pages until he settled on page three hundred and ninety-four, the page coincidentally titled _‘Cerberus’._

_‘The Cerberus, known from Greek mythology as the guardian of the Underworld, is largely described as a ‘three-headed dog’ and widely known as ferocious creatures to any that cannot tame them. They are commonly used to guard treasures and aid business in protection as their only weakness is music, a sating component for their predatory urges…’_

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who’s anger had faded into guilt and sighed. “What did I tell you about the Third Floor corridor?”

“Not to go looking,” she mumbled.

“Exactly, so what do you do? You go looking.”

Hermione bit her lip. Harry waited patiently.

“Look, I had to! Weasley was bragging about finding a huge dog on the Third Floor and everyone was clamouring to be his friend and I wanted that! The dog’s guarding the Stone and- “

“-and I told you not to go looking because you’re being dragged into a game far bigger than you think and despite what you’re trying to tell yourself, you cannot change the chessboard once it is set,” he hissed under his breath, his amusement giving way to rising anger. Did she not see that he was trying to protect her? Did she not see that by poking her nose into all the wrong places, she was placing an unwavering target on her back?

Her lower lip trembled. Harry sighed, the anger fleeing, leaving him feeling like a jaded old man far too old to be playing child. “Listen Hermione… you don’t need to entertain worthless gossip just to fit in with those other useless Gryffindork's - sorry, _Gryffindor’s_ – You know you’re far better than all of them and besides, I know you lions don’t have a sense of self-preservation but snooping around a Cerberus is _begging_ to be eaten. “

Hermione sniffled and before Harry could rack his brains and try to remember how you comfort the female species, he had an armful of the girl and a clump of frizzy hair in his mouth. He stood there as stiff as a wooden board and discreetly tried to spit the hair out whilst jerkily attempting to hug her back.

“Thanks, Harry,” she mumbled, blushing slightly, before she straightened her tie, put the book back on the shelves, and with one last affectionate smile, marched away, waving to Madame Pince as she did.

Harry shook his head and tried to remember when his life had become so weird.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the curtains as water lapped gently against the windows.

Harry awoke with a groan, bracing himself for the mass of freezing water that would be unceremoniously chucked on him as a wake-up call. When that didn’t happen, he frowned in confusion and risked a glance from under the covers. No Theodore Nott waiting with a silly grin and an _Aguamenti_ on the tip of his tongue; no Draco Malfoy combing his hair vainly in the mirror; no Blaise Zabini bemoaning dramatically about needing beauty sleep.

It all came back with a rush, and as he glanced at the calendar pinned on the opposite wall, he smiled contentedly and sank back into his nest of blankets. How nice it was to be the only one in the dorm and free to slouch about wherever he wanted.

He was still smiling as he climbed languidly out of bed, whistling as he showered and almost waltzing down the staircase. The common room was deserted as he span in a circle and admired the soft lull of the water against the windows. A tree with emerald and silver baubles stood in the corner and with a swish of his cherry wand, artificial snow began falling around the room, making him look to be from one of those movies Aunt Petunia fawned over.

Despite celebrating Christmas so many times, it never got old. Nothing was special about the day apart from the load of presents and extravagant dinners, but there seemed to be a certain taste in the air that felt of sweet berries and winter promises. Mistletoe sprouted randomly from the ceiling and flakes of snow tumbled through the air, neither light nor dark but as weightless as a feather. As Harry looked around the common room once more, watching the bright golden glow of the fairies on the tree and the shimmering of the tinsel hung on the walls, he smiled just that little bit wider when he saw the small pile of presents.

The Seventh Year girl either hadn’t got up yet or maybe she was already at breakfast, wandering the castle. Harry didn’t particularly care when his attention had been caught by the inviting packages laying innocently under the tree. With all the excitement of a child his age, he grabbed a square looking present and eagerly tore the wrapping off.

_To Harry, From Vince._

Chocolate Frogs.

Goyle had gotten him a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, Hermione had bought him a book on rare dragon species (He could imagine her laughing as she wrapped it),) and Padma Patil, the Ravenclaw twin, whom he had tutored in Astronomy, gifted him a book with star-related spells in. Pansy had, in the end, decided upon getting him a dragonhide jacket with a green lightning bolt on the breast and his Quidditch number ( 07 ) on the back. Theo, ever the saviour, gave him three copies of PlayWitch and a slice of house-elf made Treacle Tart. Blaise had, with some embarrassment, Harry imagined, bought him the sleek black phoenix quill he he’d been discreetly (evidently not) ogling through the window in Scrivenshaft’s.

Finally, two presents were left and one, the slippery fluidness of the Invisibility Cloak, was hastily unbound from the packaging and the minute it touched Harry’s hand, something felt right again in the world. A hole he didn’t know had existed was filled and suddenly he wished to never part with the Cloak. He wrapped it around his shoulders and smiled nostalgically as his body vanished, concealed. It bought back the many candlelight adventures to see the world from unviewable eyes, a thrill of adrenaline that urged him to sneak out in the dead of night and run a rampage in the castle, uncover secrets and solve a mystery. Invincibility came with the Cloak, a rushing sensation of the world being your oyster, yours for the taking. It made him yearn to be free, made him realise that he was a bird with trapped wings. The cloak could unbind his wings and set him free.

With a smile, Harry took the last present.

He was careful as he unwrapped it, lips turning upwards as he saw the golden snitches flitting about the green paper.

In a way, he was most apprehensive for Draco’s present. Draco was his best friend and he Draco’s - he'd like to think, anyways. Their friendship was different to Blaise and Theo’s. They joked and they laughed and they smiled, but it was always something a little bit more sincere. Harry knew he would always have a confidant in Draco and somehow the world seemed all the more brighter when he smiled. A world of black and white became an explosion of colour when he stepped into the room, all sly smiles and blond hair.

He opened it slowly, not ripping off the paper like he did with the other’s gifts.

Harry blinked. Once. Twice.

It was a picture frame, face down so he could not see the actual picture yet, but the frame was… _different_. It was silver and gold, a mixture of the two that were combining and twirling like an endless song that one could not hear. It reminded him, with an abrupt sense of awareness, of he and Draco. The silver of his mercury eyes and the gold of Harry’s soul that had remained, even without the Gryffindor tie and faultless nobility. He would never be that Harry again, but certain traits would always stay with him. Noble and Selfless but also Cunning and Ambitious.

He turned the frame over slowly and swallowed.

The picture was one that had probably been taken a few weeks ago. They were out in the snow, near Norberta’s habitat, and Harry was wrapped up in his Slytherin scarf, laying in the snow and twirling his wand to create sparks in the air. Draco was sneaking up behind him, snowball in hand and dropped it on Harry’s head. He watched as picture Harry stood up and wiped the snow out of his eyes with an expression of utter disbelief before grinning wickedly, lunging at picture Draco and shoving a handful of snow down his back before the scene replayed. It was a beautiful picture, one that captured the innocence of the scenery and the way Harry looked almost carefree in that moment, temporarily unbound from the chains he had been shackled in – like a Dark Lord wasn’t planning his iconic death and a much-desired magical object wasn’t twinkling in the Third Floor corridor. It captured what his life could have been if his name were not Harry Potter, if a prophecy had not been given to secure his destiny as the _‘Chosen One’._

The picture symbolised so much more than anyone could imagine and for that, it was the best present he could have ever been given.

Before he could stare any longer, the Seventh Year girl entered the common room with a scowl on her face and glittery slime on her hair. She ignored him as she stormed up to the Girls Dorm, muttering angrily about Weasleys and pranks and death threats. Harry smiled in amusement before heading up to his own dorm and putting his presents away. He changed quickly, not even bothering to comb his hair. He learnt the last time he tried and the brush got tangled. It took Draco nearly an hour to wrestle it out and another hour to tame it somewhat.

So with hair sticking up in every direction, Harry headed down for breakfast – well, lunch really – and ducked out of the way of Peeves who looked positively gleeful; never a good look for the poor victim of his mood. He ducked into the Great Hall just as Peeves’ beady little eyes locked on him.

He sat in the middle of the Slytherin table – a spot usually reserved for the most popular Seventh Years – and piled his plate with potatoes and Yorkshire puddings, nor forgetting a few slices of turkey. The Seventh Year girl slid into the seat next to his halfway through, slime free and seemingly in a much better mood. They pulled both their crackers together, her taking the flower headdress that burst from it and swiping the shrunken chess set from under his nose with a delighted smile. Harry took the next one they pulled and smirked triumphantly when a magnificent silver and green crown landed in his hands with a few white mice for Hedwig’s dinner later. Lyra – the Seventh Year girl – laughed with him and for the first time in eleven years, Harry enjoyed Christmas.

The Weasleys, who were crowded around the Gryffindor table, were howling with rapture as Percy took a bite from a biscuit and turned into a canary with an indignant squawk.

Hagrid, at the staff table, seemed to have overindulged on the whiskey if his rosy cheeks and booming laughter was any indication. He leant over and planted a smacker on McGonagall’s cheek as she giggled and blushed.

“Ten galleons McGonagall is the first one to go running to Snape for a hangover cure tomorrow,” Harry muttered to Lyra. She gave him an ungodly smirk, “Ten galleons it’s Hooch.”

“Deal.”

They retuned to the Slytherin common room after lunch. Lyra lit a roaring fire in the grate and challenged him to a game of exploding snap that had half Harry’s hair singeing before he managed to drag her out in the snow to have a snowball fight that was quickly joined by the Weasleys. Harry lost because he ended up surrendering between fits of laughter as the Twins charmed a pile of snowballs to hit Quirrell in the back of the head.

Lyra had to finish a Herbology essay in the evening, so Harry had the common room to himself whilst he snacked on his box of chocolate frogs and read Padma’s Astrology book. He tested a few of the spells on the ceiling of the common room and smiled as he saw the same enchantment placed in the great hall appear on the ceiling. It faded five minutes later as he didn’t know how to make it permanent, but he was determined to have a long-lasting one on the canopy of his bed before the year was out.

When the fire began to lull him into sleep and his eyes began to droop, Harry climbed the stairs to his dorm and settled down to bed, wrapped in the silk sheets. He must have dozed off for an hour or so because when he woke, it was two o’clock in the morning and he felt wide awake. Only once a shimmer of silver caught his eye did his realise he had forgotten something.

The Mirror.

The Mirror of Erised would be in an abandoned classroom by the library and he couldn’t help but feel naturally curious. Would his heart’s desire be the same? Would he still wish for family above all else? He had lived with them for a year. He had met them in the clearing and seen their faces once more. He’d made peace with their memories.

He wrapped the Cloak around himself and snuck down the stairs… out of the common room… through the corridors until he arrived at that little alcove by the library that had a door to adjoin the room within the Mirror was waiting. Air evaded his lungs as he saw the gleaming surface with the inscription of _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_ on it.

 _I show not your face but your heart’s desire_.

He left the Cloak by the door and hesitantly stepped closer to it, closing his eyes as his heart tried to beat out of his chest. He didn’t know why he was feeling like he was about to step into a duel with a hundred Death Eaters. It was only a mirror. And so, summoning his courage, he opened his eyes.

The Mirror seemed to be confused. It flashed between fiery red hair and loving green eyes, white-blond hair and mercury orbs and a strange sort of flash of bright light. What it settled on though… what it settled on was what Harry would never imagine even in one of his more daring dreams.

An older Harry looked back at him, a sly little smile on his like he knew something no one else did. An older Draco was standing next to him, arm around his waist and an expression on his pale face that Harry had never seen on his pointed face before. It was the look his mother used to give his father when he’d done something daft and she’d caught him in the middle of it. Around older Harry’s shoulders were a strange cloak that shimmered in the light-

_‘The Cloak of Invisibility, able to hide one from Death’_

\- and an odd ring on his finger with a smooth black stone jutting out –

_‘The Resurrection Stone, able to bring loved ones back from the dead’_

\- and a long wand in his hand that had peculiar knots in the shaft-

_‘The Wand of Destiny, unbeatable for its true master’_

_‘Together they make one Master of Death…’_

Harry stumbled back from the Mirror, gasping like a dying man as his head reeled. The Hallows weren’t his heart’s desire – he was certain. He had died (temporarily) at the mercy of the Elder Wand and the Stone, no matter how alluring, was a tool to drive one mad with hopeless longing. The Cloak was his birth right, a connection to his ancestors that had been treasured for years. He did not long to become the ‘Master of Death’ like many other spineless fools. They had to be a metaphor for something else… a metaphor for something he longed for…

He fell into bed that night with more questions than he bargained for.

* * *

Despite himself, Harry returned the following night just to stare at the Mirror. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what the Mirror meant.

Hours he sat on the stone-cold floor, Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders just looking at his older reflection and wondering… wondering… _wondering…_

Only when Dumbledore caught him and told him the Mirror would be moved the following day did he go back to his dorm. But even then, his dreams were filled with winding roads and hooded figures with stones, cloaks and wands.

He could still hear Xenophilius Lovegood’s gravelly voice echoing in his mind when the silence became too loud and his imagination was strong enough to slip through its cage and taunt him until he felt as insane as Bellatrix Lestrange.

_‘Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognise that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.’_

When Harry glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and noticed the bags under his eyes and the paleness to his skin, he smiled tiredly and firmly shoved the stupid Mirror out of his mind. He stole a vial of dreamless sleep from the Hospital Wing and that night, his last view before the potion stole control of his mind was of Draco’s empty bed and the wish that he was there beside him.

_‘The master of Death…’_


	15. In which Harry drinks a bit too much Firewhiskey, Reminisces about Nargles and Realises something has Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "By any means necessary."

_I hope to arrive to my death,_

_late,_

_in love,_

_and a little drunk._

* * *

When the Christmas holidays were over and students were trampling over each other to get to the castle first, Harry finally had something else to focus on. Dumbledore was true to his word and the Mirror was moved – he knew where it was, but no way would he battle his way through the Third Floor corridor every night just to see what he already knew.

Draco noticed right away that something was wrong, but he didn’t say anything other than the tight hug he was pulled into and the whisper of “ _Later_ ,” in his ear. Pansy was distracted until she saw her partner in crime. The girl literally lit up with a wide smile and a loud exclamation of, “Hermione!” before they were off with linked arms. Theo latched on to the first female he saw and started flirting like his life depended on it. Apparently two weeks with only his parents for company and no girls was like denying a man of water for Theo. Blaise spent his holiday in Italy trying not to laugh as his mother seduced some other poor bloke that would probably die of mysterious means in a few months and conveniently leave his fortune to Amalia Zabini.

Harry didn’t tell anyone about the Mirror.

He did, however, overhear Ron and Neville tattling about the Third Floor. They’d got it into their heads that Snape was trying to steal whatever was being guarded and Harry listened to them insult Snape with all the names in the book before Pince pushed them out of her precious library. Harry contemplated obliviating them, but he didn’t trust himself not to render them into vegetables. Hermione always was the one from their trio that did all the delicate spell work.

He threw himself back into Quidditch practice with vigour. Their next game was against Ravenclaw after the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game that Snape had decided to referee. A gleeful Flint had told the Slytherin team that Snape was playing ref to knock Hufflepuff down a few pegs. The badgers were having a brilliant season and therefore a threat to the snakes. Snape would be working to counter that because if the ‘Puffs won by more than a hundred points, they would be tying with Slytherin.

A week later and Harry was sitting in the neutral section of the stands with Draco beside him nearly bouncing in excitement and Hermione babbling about anything and everything to Pansy who was listening in amusement. Theo wasn’t even paying attention; he was half asleep. He’d taken on a dare from Blaise to stay up for a solid forty-eight hours with cocky certainty only to look like a racoon all day. A few rows down, Greengrass and Davies were snobbishly remarking on the unladylike Hufflepuff female keeper. According to them, Quidditch was a male sport and the ladies were meant to be good little housewives who powdered their cheeks and gossiped like royalty. Millicent Bulstrode, who was sitting directly behind them snorted loudly at that and ignored the other girls as they tittered.

Harry would never understand purebloods.

Hermione, sitting on his other side, gripped his arm tightly as both seekers rushed into an almost vertical dive. Her scarlet scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck as she screamed and cheered with the rest of the crowd as Gryffindor scored. Despite what many would say about Hermione, she wasn’t a prissy bookworm that didn’t know the definition of fun. In fact, Hermione could be just as rowdy as anyone when she got swept up in the moment. Of course, she would blush and deny it later, but everyone that knew her understood that she was a wild party animal underneath her bossy exterior. Affection rose in Harry’s chest as he smiled fondly at her. Hermione would always be Hermione. An unmoveable mountain in the eye of the storm.

Snape called for a foul (that wasn’t really a foul) and angry shouts came from the Gryffindor stands, Hermione among them, not noticing the looks she was getting.

Harry shared a sly smirk with the rest of the Slytherins. They didn’t play fair like the Hufflepuffs; they didn’t look at everything logically like the Ravenclaws; they didn’t relinquish a victory in the name of nobility like the Gryffindors – they played to win by any means necessary. They looked out for their own and, overall, _survived_.

 _By any means necessary_.

A wild roar ensued from the Hufflepuff stands as their Seeker – Harry jolted – _Cedric Diggory_ – pulled up from a steep dive, face sweaty from perseverance but flushed with happiness, snitch clutched in his hand and a grin on his face.

“Diggory’s caught the snitch! Hufflepuff win!” Lee Jordan was calling with only a hint of despondency.

McLaggen was red in the face with anger as his teammates ignored him. Wood seemed to be on the verge of tears as he stared at the Gryffindor Seeker with a crumpled look on his face like he couldn’t decided whether to throttle the boy of drown himself in the shower to end the walk of shame Gryffindor were doing to the changing rooms.

Theo and Blaise were swapping galleons, sour looks on their faces like they’d simultaneously swallowed lemons. Those two always seemed to be betting on one thing or another. Harry made a note to introduce Theo to muggle casinos just for his own entertainment. Watching him waste his whole vault gambling would be a good pick up on a rainy day.

Snape spat on the ground bitterly as the Slytherins groaned under their breaths.

Hufflepuff won, meaning they had competition. 

Flint, who was sitting behind Harry, the rest of the team besides him, muttered, “Right boys, it’s going to be a tough two games. We all know Ravenclaw will be a piece of cake, so we need to work on racking up the points for that… and _Hufflepuff_ … Potter – you’re going to end it as fast as you can.”

Harry nodded as Draco did the same, pretending he didn’t hear Boyle mumbling plans to trip jinx Cortana Smith (Hufflepuff Chaser) as she walked down the stairs. Plausible deniability, and all that.

The cheery afterglow of a good Quidditch match lingered as they made their way back up to the castle, watching sullenly as the Hufflepuffs basked in their success. Harry loved the competitiveness of the sport, but the way his throat felt like it had been scraped raw was horrible.

Hermione left shortly after the match ended, making up some excuse about the library, but Harry got the instinct feeling that it had something to do with a certain dog sitting on top of a certain trapdoor. His eyes followed her as she quickly hurried past a gabbling group of Ravenclaw girls.

_She was up to something._

Something within him hardened at that. He was a fucking hypocrite, but he _hated_ secrets. They destroyed people; they _changed_ people. Dumbledore kept secrets and look where that got him – shunned from beyond the grave. He could hate himself later, but- _what if she were in danger_?

He stepped away from the group, absently making an excuse but freezing at the grip on his arm. Draco smiled pleasantly as they branched away from Pansy, Blaise and Theo, but the minute they were out of earshot, his expression went from coolly amiable to firmly determined.

“All right, _what_ is going on with you?!”

“I’m just tir- “

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Draco exploded, running a hand through his hair. _It looks nice like that_ , Harry noticed dimly. _He looks cute when he’s angry_. “There is something going on with you! I noticed as soon as I saw you, but I thought I’d give you time to tell me, to come around! I guess I was wrong! Now you’re going to tell me what the matter is, or I’ll is go straight to Snape and take Veritaserum to _make_ you speak!”

Harry stood there for a moment, blinking at the blond in front of him and just watching as his pale cheeks reddened and his eyes sparked with his anger. He looked perfect like that, hair lightly windswept and dark eyelashes against his cheeks. He looked- he looked…

_Beautiful._

It all came tumbling out before he could stop it; blurted confessions of getting his father’s Cloak for Christmas by an anonymous (not so much) benefactor and _happening_ on the room with the Mirror. His thoughts came tripping from his tongue in a warble of metaphorical descriptions and jumbled sentences that made _no sense_. Green flashes of poisonous light filled his mind, distant memories of a Cloak around his shoulders and a stone in his hand rushed to mind as he stared down the end on the Wand. When he finally ran out of words to speak and he had enough strength to look Draco in the eye, he realised his hands were trembling and he was cold. His nose felt numb and his fingers like icicles. The last of the December chills had yet to leave, biting winds emerging just when the weather started warming.

Draco looked surprised, a crease between his brows before he shook his head with a small smile and looked at him.

“Oh, Harry,” he sighed so _fondly,_ it took Harry’s breath away, “Come here, you daft idiot.”

And then Harry was surrounded by warmth and the smell of rich vanilla that always seemed to surround Draco and his heart was beating against his ribs and he was just glad that his best friend couldn’t see the tears that blurred his sight because he hadn’t felt so warm since his mother had held him in the dead of night and smiled down at him with her soft green eyes.

Harry decided, as they stayed entwined, that he never wanted to feel cold again.

* * *

He didn’t follow Hermione in the end.

When rationality caught up with him, he realised that everyone was entitled to their secrets. Secrets didn’t have to tear people apart; secrets didn’t have to ruin people if you respected their distance. He wasn’t entitled to know all his friends skeletons. When Hermione wished to divulge, he would listen. Until then, he didn’t need to know.

Something changed within his and Draco’s friendship after the match. Well, it changed for Harry at least. He learned to shove aside the way his eyes would automatically seek Draco’s in the room. He learned to repress the urge to leap to his defence as a Weasley made snide remarks. He learned that _Draco wasn’t his_. Draco was his best friend that hated rice, loved chicken and spoke French. Draco was his best friend, not anything else, not anything more. They were _children_ and Harry didn’t dare delude himself that Draco, pale, blond, _beautiful_ Draco, would want anything to do with him, rough, thin, _messy_ Harry, in _that_ sense.

Nothing had really changed but the way his heart falters in his chest and his breath catches in his throat had.

Because _sometimes_... sometimes Draco made Harry feel like he was still the little boy hiding in the cupboard under the stairs.

* * *

When the Slytherin Quidditch team won their match against Ravenclaw and Harry was still riding the wave of giddiness as he was hoisted upon Bletchley’s shoulders, he met Draco’s eyes in the crowd, met that beaming smile with one of his own, and a silent acknowledgement passed between them.

_‘I’m trying to forget the Mirror.’_

_‘I know, and I’m proud of you.’_

The celebratory party that night was absolutely _wild,_ and Harry would never forget the feeling of happiness that swept away the lingering threads of melancholia. He didn’t realise how many doubts plagued his mind until they were gone and the light-headed thrill of drinking Firewhiskey underage flooded in. He laughed and smiled and danced all night until he collapsed into the seat next to Draco and grinned crookedly.

Stars exploded behind his eyes as colours covered his vision in a whirl of wind. He felt like he could fly without his broom in that moment, that he could take on Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Voldemort and emerge victorious. It was a magnificent feeling, being drunk. Everything was so insignificant. Everything was so spontaneous. There was no worrying about the inevitable.

His heard turned towards Draco as he smiled with lidded eyes. He’d changed into his school uniform after Quidditch – as did the rest of the team – before shedding his robe and jumper after he started dancing. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair more wavy than messy. Draco was watching him with a strange look on his face; half confusion and half something else that Harry couldn’t identify in his hazy state.

“Did I ever tell you that I _love_ your hair?”

Draco blinked in surprise, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Of course you love my hair. People always are attracted to perfection.”

“You’re perfect,” Harry mumbled quietly, eyes drooping. When did he get so tired? He was only dancing for a few minutes. And why was Draco looking at him with those eyes of his? Didn’t he know that it made him feel like he was lost little Harry with the Gryffindor tie and the insecurity in his heart?

“Gryffindor?” Draco looked mildly bewildered, “Harry, you know you’re a Slytherin, right?”

_Wow, do people actually do that I-don’t-realise-I’m-talking-out-loud thing?_

“Not always,” Harry murmured, a bitter smile on his lips as he stared unseeingly into the distance, “Not always.”

Draco’s brows drew together in confusion, a frown marring his pale features. Harry didn’t like it. He raised clumsy hands to smooth out the wrinkles in his face, squinting in concentration as the Firewhiskey made his vision blur. “You shouldn’t frown, y’know. Luna said it attracts the nargles.”

“Nargles?”

“Mmm,” Harry said, nodding wisely, “They make y’brains go...” he made an odd curly motion with his finger before a yawn clawed his way through his throat. “’m tired, Draco,”

“Are you now?” he said, amused.

“Yeah. ‘m tired and sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yeah… miss ‘em, y’know.”

The explosive feeling of happiness that came with his oblivious sense of intoxication was fading into an awful tide of misery that was dragging him under. He wished he never picked up the spiked punch or stole the ‘Whiskey. He felt _awful_. All he could think about was his parents.

“Miss who?”

There was something sad on Draco’s face, a soft sort of understanding as he absently ran his hands through Harry’s hair as he slumped onto his lap. Harry didn’t know when exactly he ended up halfway sprawled across two armchairs, but he wasn’t complaining. He hardly even noticed.

“Mum and dad,” Harry said, closing his eyes as nimble fingers ran through his hair, “They were good, y’know. Dad wasa stag and mum wasa doe and they were perfect. I _miss_ ‘em, Draco.”

Draco swallowed, his rhythmic movements faltering for a second before he breathed out softly. “Come on, Harry. Let’s get you to bed.”

Harry didn’t remember much from then on. He did remember a lot of stumbling and staggering and nearly falling down the stairs twice, but Draco caught him every time, like he always would. He remembered collapsing on his bed but deciding it was too cold and slipping in next to someone else. He remembered dreaming that strange dream he had occasionally, with flickering shadows and tall figures with soulless eyes. He remembered shifting closer to the warmth as the cold encased his bones and _death_ loomed behind his eyes.

He definitely remembered waking up to a surprised squeak and his warm pillow _moving_.

“Mmmhm,” Harry groaned, clutching his pillow tighter as it tried to move away. He was going to kill Theo later. First the twat charms his pillow and then he hits him with some sort of bludger, giving him the worst headache he’d ever had apart from that time Dudley shoved him down the stairs. “Theo, you _fucking_ tosser.” He muttered sleepily, “Stop charming my pillow.”

“ _Pillow?!_ I’m not your pillow, you lecherous git! Get off!” It squeaked back indignantly.

_This is a really weird fucking dream…_

Harry realised it wasn’t a dream when he was shoved off his bed and he collided with the cold stone floor with a rough thump. His eyes snapped open as he fumbled for his wand, lurching to his feet as light blinded him and Blaise peeked around the camera with a wide grin on his face, cackling like Voldemort possessed. “Oh, this is _brilliant._ I didn’t know you were a hugger, Harry.”

“I- what?”

He glanced down at the bed he tumbled out of and froze.

_That wasn’t his bed…_

An unmanly squeak left his lips as he saw Draco sprawled across his bed looking traumatised as he yanked the sheets back around himself.

 _He_ slept _in Draco’s_ bed _-_

Harry wished he could obliviate himself of the embarrassment.

From then on, it only got worse.

He realised his headache was part of the hangover and no way in hell was he going to beg snape for a cure. Draco, as punishment for hogging his sheets for the night, spoke as loudly as possible as Harry slouched over the breakfast table, inhaling his coffee and holding his throbbing head in his hands. He couldn’t even remember what happened the night before after he stopped dancing with Pansy. Draco didn’t tell him, but Harry got the weird feeling he said something about nargles.

Soon, he mused, he’d be taking adventures to find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack and wearing wrackspurt glasses.

In Charms, Flitwick was making hints – _‘hints’_ being blatant statements that even Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t misunderstand – about the end of year exams. Hermione spent the lesson with her quill practically glued to her parchment as she furiously wrote, muttering under her breath about revision schedules.

Transfiguration was probably the most merciful lesson they had that day. McGonagall had them turning thimbles into sickles and only lectured the importance of exams for half an hour. A half hour that Harry spent watching a Ravenclaw girl blow a few Droobles as she read a copy of _Witch Weekly_ that had clearly been glamoured to look like their textbook.

His headache only worsened in Defence as he retreated into his own mind to strengthen his Occlumency shields. They were nearing the end of February and Voldemort’s presence in Quirrell was only growing stronger. Soon Occlumency wouldn’t be able to contain the soul fragment and Harry would be left with crippling headaches and the constant rage of _angerfuryrevenge_ that always occupied the Dark Lord’s thoughts.

The man had _issues_ , he decided.

Harry was first out of his seat when they were dismissed, ashen faced and pressing a hand against his scar. Now that he was out of Quirrell’s immediate presence, he could feel the pain receding until he was left with the lingering echo of his hangover. Pansy eyed him worriedly as he straightened his lopsided tie and willed a bit of colour into his cheeks. “All right, darling?”

He hummed in response, only just realising that the corridor had emptied. “Where’s Draco and Blaise?” Theo was in the hospital wing. Something about passing out in front of Dumbledore’s office and nearly getting hyperthermia. How he got out of the common room and made it up twelve flights of stairs _drunk_ was beyond Harry.

She frowned at him. “They’re going to see Snape, remember.”

“What? Why?”

“They got detention from Filch yesterday for smuggling in the Firewhiskey. One of the house-elves put a disillusionment charm on the crater but they were still caught out after curfew. Didn’t Draco tell you?”

Harry coughed in embarrassment. “Well, I- uh- might have been a bit… _busy_ last night.”

_Yeah, busy drinking half the Firewhiskey they snuck into the party and then dancing like an idiot._

Pansy’s face twisted in amusement, “Of course you were. Anyway, Draco’s going to beg Snape to push back their detention because of Quidditch practice. Apparently, he’s got blackmail on him. He wouldn’t tell me what, other than it was something Professor Snape wouldn’t want to get out.”

Draco _had blackmail on_ Snape _…_

“Wicked,” Harry breathed.

* * *

“Did Snape manage to move your detention?”

“Yeah. Sev’s a life saver.”

“When to?”

“20th March.”

Harry’s blood ran cold.

_The unicorn…_

* * *

A creature lived in Harry’s chest. A hungry thing that thirsted for blood and snarled for vengeance. It looked a lot like Sirius’ Animagus form except the teeth were too sharp and the fur too black. It didn’t growl playfully and yap excitedly. Its eyes weren’t the kind grey of his godfather’s, but the milky orbs like the moon reflected in a rippling body of water. It skulked under his skin, prowling and stalking, canines more like fangs as it flashed its piecing predatory teeth. It scared Harry sometimes. The way his anger would turn from the roaring fire that sought release, to the snarling beast in his chest that had a cold fury capable of burning all the more. Forests turned to ashes, war turned to silence, stars turned to memories. It scared him far more than Dumbledore’s subtle manipulations, than Voldemort’s unrelenting hunt for his head. It scared him more than anything because that creature was _him_ , and he was capable of that.

As Harry slept, eyes flickering beneath his eyelids, the beast purred, snarl turning into a mockery of a smile.

Soon.

One slip in control, and the beast would pounce, leaving only cinders and ashes in its wake.

_Soon._


	16. In which they go through the trapdoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't edit this.

_Hold fast to dreams,_

_For if dreams die_

_Life is a broken-winged bird,_

_That cannot fly_

* * *

As March grew closer, Harry began doing everything in his power to get detention.

He hexed unsuspecting Hufflepuffs in the corridors, he insulted the Gryffindors, he even tried tripping people down the stairs. Nothing worked. Snape would always swoop in like an overgrown bat and smooth it over with his silky words and withering glares that had protesting students shrinking. He was getting desperate. He couldn’t let Draco and Blaise go alone to that detention in the Forbidden Forest, knowing that they’d be faced with the wraith of Voldemort and no certainty that Firenze would arrive in time to save them.

And, well, they did say desperate people did desperate things.

So that was where Harry was at the present moment; loitering outside Snape’s quarters under his Invisibility Cloak, waiting for the right moment.

The door creaked open as Snape skulked out, black eyes peering around suspiciously before he retreated back into his lair. Harry breathed out a sign of relief. Hoisting the bucket full of slime further into his arms – it was bloody _heavy_ – he drew his wand, looking around in case anyone was watching, and levitated the bucket just above the door. He stashed the Cloak in his pocket and mentally counted down. Snape should peek around his door again in twenty minutes. The man was dreadfully paranoid.

Harry leant against the wall and counted the cracks in the ceiling just to soothe his boredom.

Twenty minutes later, Harry got into position – arms outstretched, deer-in-headlights expression – and watched with interior wickedness as Snape opened the door.

The bucket fell.

Slime cascaded like a waterfall against Snape’s head, coating his greasy locks in thick gunge. Harry would have been lying if he said he didn’t gain a particular sense of vicious satisfaction at the bat’s horror-struck expression. Snape stood there, shoulders tense, slime drenching his black robes, as his face turned an ugly purple that would have made Vernon jealous. He looked up, eyes freezing on Harry as rage twisted his features.

Just to add insult to injury, Harry smiled cheerily and – partly because he’d never be able to do it again - said merrily, “All right there, Snivellus?”

Snape exploded.

(Not literally. One could hope, though)

**“ _POTTER_!” **

* * *

Harry landed himself detention for a week and reverent admiration from the Weasley twins who had taken to bowing whenever he walked past and charming the carpets to red. Draco had found his silver and green crown from the Christmas cracker and, after teasing Harry and thoroughly expressing his disapproval, placed it atop his raven hair. He’d endured a scolding from Hermione (but even her lips had twitched) and an exasperated glace from Pansy, but the rest of the Slytherins weren’t so lenient. All the grudging respect he’d built with the rest of the House for his Quidditch skills had evaporated the minute they learned he’d pranked Snape and cost them all twenty-five points – the most Snape had taken from a Slytherin.

It didn’t matter though. Harry would ruin his own reputation a thousand times over just to be able to save his friends.

That Wednesday found Harry standing outside Hagrid’s hut, shivering lightly in the breeze, as Filch went off in a monologue about ‘The Good Old Days’ and his beloved chains and whips. Harry rolled his eyes and huddled closer to Draco who smiled slightly as slung an arm around his shoulder.

The forest seemed darker at night, an army of gnarled, looking trees that were eerily still. No leaves rustled in the wind, no birds twittered and flapped, no twigs crunched under footsteps. It loomed in Harrys vision until he went cross-eyed, trying to keep the whole forest in sight as if afraid a stray vine would wrap around his ankle and drag him kicking and screaming into the wilderness. He could still remember the chill in his bones and the dullness of his heart as the Stone lay as cold as death in his palm and echoes of loved ones long lost appeared amongst the living once more. His eyes strayed towards the path he walked – would walk? – and he _wondered_ …

“There yeh are, Harry! I was wonderin’ when yeh’d show up!”

Harry jumped violently, tearing his eyes away from the forest and up at Hagrid’s warm form. Hagrid watched him die in that forest, a part of him registered dimly. Hagrid watched as the Elder Wand – Dumbledore’s wand, Grindelwald’s wand, _his_ _wand_ – refused to turn on its master and instead of killing him, sent him to the warped In-Between where he was thrown back in time and the slate was wiped clean. _Just_ – _like_ – _that_.

Filch sneered at them. “Don’t look too happy. You’re going into the _Dark Forest_ after all… Got to have your wits about you.”

Draco’s expression went from relief to terror in a second. “The Forest?! I thought that was a joke! There’s- There’s- _werewolves_ in there!”

Blaise snorted, “Draco, the full moon isn’t for another week.”

Draco didn’t look any more assured. “Shut up, Zabini! I’m too young to die!”

“Yer not gonna die, Draco.” Hagrid said with an airy wave of his hand. “We’ll take Fang with us.”

Filch gave one last cruel sneer before he hobbled back up to the school, humming a disjointed funeral march and grinning with yellow teeth at a petrified Draco.

“I’ll take Harry and Fang!” He nearly shouted, lunging for the dog and grabbing Harry’s arm with wide, terrified eyes. He was staring at the forest like it was about to bite him in the arse and them string him up by his intestines.

Hagrid sighed – it sounded like wing blowing at the trees – and told them, “Somethin’s bin killin’ the Unicorns and we’re gonna find out what. Send up red sparks with yer wands if yeh run inter trouble an’ I’ll be right there.”

They all nodded gravely. Harry ignored Draco’s faint, “ _Killing_ the _unicorns_?”

Blaise dragged the bemused half-giant (well, dragged meaning tugged on his overgrown sleeve and not really moving Hagrid an inch) into the forest, leaving Harry with Draco who was almost clinging to the back of his robes.

“You think they’ll notice if we run back to the castle now?” he whispered fearfully; eyes so wide Harry was surprised they hadn’t fallen out.

Harry snorted and grabbed Fang’s leash even as he hauled them all forward. “Don’t be a wuss, _Darcy._ ”

Draco scowled immediately. “Don’t call me that!”

Pansy had jokingly given them names of the opposite gender the other day and Draco’s had stuck with him. Harry became Harriet, Hermione became Herman – apparently that’s a name – Blaise became Belinda, Theo became Teresa, Pansy became Parker and Draco, of course, became Darcy. Only because it annoyed him so much did Harry call him Darcy.

Draco, so caught up in his rant of ‘Reasons “ _Darcy_ ” is an Inappropriate name for Draco Malfoy’ (they were just reaching reason number four – “I am the _Pureblood heir_ to a _Noble_ family and also _male_ -“) that he didn’t realise they were already halfway in to the Forest. His words died in his throat as his eyes bugged and a pained sort of squeak toppled from his tongue instead.

“Harry,” He whimpered, moulding himself to Harry’s side and attempting to shut his eyes as much as he could without being completely blind.

Harry rolled his eyes and dragged them all along. Fang was sniffing and whining and pawing at the ground – not much help at all really. If they died – and wouldn’t _that_ be ironic – the boarhound probably wouldn’t notice at all.

They heard a scream in the distance – Draco actually _squealed_ – and Harry swallowed. The Forbidden Forest was terrifying. He only managed to stop himself from screaming at every twig snap. There was just something about the Forest that made goosebumps prickle up your arm and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’d met the king of acromantula, rode on the back of a centaur and watched a unicorn slowly die, yet the looming trees and drifting fog made him tick in all the wrong ways.

They turned a corner and that was all the warning he got.

His hand twitched-

His scar seared-

The world bled red.

He bit back the scream as he shoved Draco behind him, his wand jumping to his hand as a reductor shot out in a jet of brilliant blue light that cut away the _painangonyangerpanic_.

Everything was pain.

His scar was spilling his head in half, his nerves were burning like he was on his fifth cruciatus, his mind was screaming like the wailing of a siren. It was worse than a thousand of Dudley’s punches, worse than tripping down a thousand stairs. It was the feeling of being held under a thousand _Crucio_ ’s at the same time and feeling your heart combust and your mind tear itself apart without being able to do a _single thing_ to stop it.

It was _painagonytorture_ like he’d never felt before.

The thing – Voldemort – fled, letting out an inhuman shriek as he went, dispelling into the shadows.

He heard Draco frantically saying something – _why couldn’t he hear him?_ – but he was falling falling _falling_ and nothing mattered anymore apart from his mother’s soft lullaby and the arms that wrapped around his limp body, chasing away the cold until everything was warm and the world turned dark.

* * *

When he awoke again, it was to the soft buzz of silence and a warm listless hand in his own.

He didn’t want to open his eyes and confront reality. He was safe amongst the mellow colours and abstract shapes that danced behind his eyelids. It was warm and soft and everything that life wasn’t. He wanted to stay in the dream on endless dreams forever, never to face the shattering grief and desolate sadness that occurs daily but in various shades of grey. He wanted to stay and stay and-

He opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed were the nimble fingers loosely holding his hand and the messy blonde hair strewn across a chair, attached to the curled-up form of Draco Malfoy.

Harry blinked.

The Hospital Wing was bathed in darkness, and without his glasses he could only recognise so much, but he did know, at least vaguely, that he and Draco seemed to be the only ones there. Also, Draco was sleeping on a _chair_ and not in a silky, king sized mattress with millions of pillows.

He felt his eyes sliding shut again.

Half-addled with sleep, he hardly noticed that he’d moved closer to Draco until he was asleep again and that warm, warm air was encasing him in a cocoon of comfort, the cold of death all but a distant memory.

* * *

Harry was discharged from the Hospital Wing a day later with only an evasive ‘Magical Exhaustion’ given to him as a reason for his prolonged stay. Apparently, according to Madam Pomfrey, he’d tired his magic by doing ‘strenuous activities’ and that caused him to ‘faint’. (Harry detested that word. It made him sound like a damsel in distress.) It was clearly lacking in information, but Harry guessed it was just one of those things that adults didn’t tell children because they were ‘ _too young’_. (Never mind the fact he was actually seventeen – twenty-eight if you added his ages – years old)

Snape watched him with hawk eyes in Potions that day and- _was it just paranoia, or was Dumbledore deliberately bumping into him?_

The Headmaster had crossed him in the corridors a total of five times with a curious twinkle in his eye and a grandfatherly smile on his wrinkly face. Harry wasn’t blind – or daft– as people thought; he knew when he was being followed. He had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. He’d made good use of numerous secret passages, pretending he didn’t see Fred and George cackling that evil cackle they did when they were _up to no good_ as he stepped through the portrait of Harold the Heinous and hurried to the fourth floor. The odd thing was that he hadn’t felt a single Legilimency probe. At first he thought that his shields had weakened – that sent him into a right panic in the middle of Herbology, resulting in him trudging to the dungeons to get a shower before History of Magic – before he realised that his shields were fine (if stronger) and that Dumbledore genuinely hadn’t used mind magics on him.

As the days wore on and Dumbledore continued to conveniently bump into him, Harry grew evermore suspicious. What was his game?

Draco, following their Forest Expedition, stuck to his side like glue. He’d eye him going down the stairs with a bit lip and look like he wanted to wrap him in cotton wool and chain him to his bed. His grey eyes would watch him eat with rapt attentiveness, staring at the sharp spikes on the fork and looking like he wanted it to disappear. It did one time, actually. Harry was just about to bite into his potato when the fork disappeared and it fell into his lap. He sat there dumbly for a moment as people stared and then everyone was laughing and Draco was sliding deeper down into his seat, the tips of his ears Weasley-red in mortification.

As a result of the incident, he and Draco grew closer than ever, spending their lesson-free afternoons in the library revising for the end of year exams that crawled closer with every passing day. Worries of Voldemort, the Mirror, strange dreams of warm and cold were all overshadowed by the sudden frenzy to study for the exams. The Fifth Years were snappier than ever, shouting at anyone who dared even _breath_ in the common room. The Seventh Years were even worse; the Prefects dishing out detentions like sweets as they buried their heads in textbooks. Harry was used to getting up in the morning and finding the odd Slytherin slumped in the chairs with drool attaching parchment to their cheeks. On one memorable occasion, Peeves worked up the balls to break in (read: _glide_ in) to the common room and painted rude pictures on every Fifth and Seventh Year. What came of that was fifteen mental breakdowns and twenty calming draughts, followed by a chilling lecture by Snape about the importance of sleep, including no less that several not-so-subtle threats to have them scrubbing the Hospital bed pans by hand and without magic.

And so, with foreboding hanging around his neck like a noose, Harry set his quill down for his History of Magic exam and exhaled, mentally preparing himself for the hours that were to come. 

-

He sat by the lake, sitting under the shade provided by the tree and watching as the Squid juggled a handful of squealing Third Years before setting them down in their places. Draco was laughing – half of it, Harry expected, was exhausted relief that exams were over and impending doom was averted by a hairs breadth, – Theo and Blaise were hunched over a scroll of parchment and probably conspiring something nefarious whilst Pansy sat cross-legged with Hermione, painting the other girl’s nails as she half-heartedly protested. It felt surreal, to be surrounded by friends after ten years spent in solitude with only the spiders that haunted the cupboard under the stairs for company. He glanced towards the school-

Harry went completely still like a dog that had scented a rabbit.

-and there was Quirrell, hurrying up the path.

_Tonight._

A grim look passed Harry’s face, and one that didn’t know him wouldn’t have spotted the sheen of ice that momentarily veiled his eyes before it disappeared. Something was changing with Harry Potter, and they wouldn’t find out until it was too late.

“Harry?” Draco said with a concerned frown, “All right?”

“Yes,” Harry said stiffly, a wooden smile on his drawn face, “Just exam stress.”

But Draco knew it wasn’t, and after sending him a suspicious look, let out a disbelieving sound before turning back to watch the squid. Harry knew Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew that something was going on and despite being the most Slytherin Slytherin Harry had ever known – apart from Snape, but that was given – the blond had the burning curiosity of a Ravenclaw-

 _He’d look nice in blue and bronze_.

-And the undeniable itch to solve every mystery thrown at him.

Harry smiled at him, an affectionate thing that he’d deny to his dying day, but Draco was still watching the squid and (thankfully) wasn’t witnessing Harry’s embarrassing lapse in persona. (After all, happiness never seemed to last in Slytherin. Something about their ever-present scowls during exam week seemed to zap the positivity right out of the air.)

The sun started to set as the Slytherins made their way back to the dungeons, yawning as they went. The constant routine of s _tudystudystudy_ really took the energy out of life. Harry really was tired of waking up at six and falling asleep at twelve.

He lay in bed that night, eyes refusing to close even though he was so fucking _tired_ of everything, until he cast a Tempus and discovered it was nearing ten o’clock.

In his haste to stop Voldemort, he neglected the fact that Draco wasn’t in his bed and a vaguely lumpy shape was in his place.

He tiptoed down the stairs, wincing as he stepped on a creaky one, and taking his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. He was just about to slide past the entrance to the common room when someone cleared their throat from behind him. He swore – loudly – and jumped, wand in hand and a stinging jinx on his tongue, when he saw the blond hair. “Fucking hell, Draco. Are you trying to drive me to an early grave?”

Draco scoffed, raising an unamused eyebrow as Harry tried to inch towards the exit.

“Oh no you don’t. _You_ are going to take me with you.”

Harry laughed nervously, glancing towards the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

Draco crossed his arms and leant back into the armchair that looked more like a throne for him. “You’re going to take me or I’ll steal your cloak and scream rape.”

Harry choked on his own tongue, gripping his Cloak tighter before realising.

_The Cloak can’t be summoned by anyone than its owner._

He really didn’t want to Body-bind Draco, but he didn’t want to take him along. What if something went wrong? What if the Devil’s Snare was quicker or the potion a poison? Harry would never forgive himself if something happened to his best friend.

Draco must have seen the indecisiveness on Harry’s face because he pressed. “What if something happened to me if you left and I tried to follow you but got corned by a _mean, nasty Gryffindor_? What if-?”

“I could Body-bind you,” Harry said weakly.

Something soft and tender crossed Draco’s face at that before it was replaced by a smile and an innocent widening of his eyes. “You’d never curse me, Harry.”

Harry idly wondered if this could be considered emotional manipulation.

He dithered, glancing at his best friend’s hopeful eyes and the lonely path of seclusion that awaited him outside the common room.

“Alright. Come on then.”

As Draco grinned in success, Harry sighed in resignation.

* * *

Drool fell in slobbery lumps as all three of Fluffy’s heads snarled and growled at the two Slytherin First Years standing by the door to the Third Floor. One of them, the blond one, looked terrified. With wide grey eyes, he stared at the dog and clutched his wand like a lifeline. The other, a boy with messy raven hair and electric green eyes, sighed, and almost looking bored, stepped confidently forward and reached out a placating hand as he hummed under his breath. All six of Fluffy’s eyes shuttered until the drowsy dog collapsed and started snoring.

The blond boy breathed out in relief, his grip on his wand loosening. “Merlin,” he breathed, suddenly looking less than sure of his decision to tag along.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he nudged a paw away from the trapdoor. “You asked.”

Draco glared at him as he gingerly stepped forward and peered into the dark abyss that waited for him. Harry smiled. “In you go.”

Before Draco could retreat, Harry had grinned wickedly at him and then he was screaming as he fell, cursing his idiot of a best friend all the way.

Harry smirked to himself as he jumped, only to land on the soft cushion of the Devil’s Snare. Just as the vines started to coil around his limbs, a stream of fire burst from the end of his wand and the infernal plant shrieked and withdrew, leaving Harry and Draco to tumble to the floor below.

Draco was scowling murderously as Harry offered him a hand up, glaring as he pulled himself up. “I really don’t know why I passed up a nice long sleep just to be down here with you.”

“You say it like it’s my fault, darling Draco.”

He sniffed, sending one last withering glare at Harry before he marched off towards the keys.

“Why are there birds here?”

“What, you mean you didn’t bring any bird seed? I told you to get the bird seed.”

_“What?!”_

“Only joking.”

Harry grinned as he scooped up a broom and chucked the other one to Draco. “They’re not birds – they’re flying keys. We’re looking for a big silver one, probably rusty, and with one bent wing.”

Harry slid onto the broom, eyes darting upwards at the docile keys that wouldn’t stay docile for long. “Race you?”

Draco let out an odd choke, staring at the sharp-looking things fluttering overhead.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco’s face set into a determined line, beautiful silver eyes locking on Harry’s with challenge. “You wish, Potter.”

And then Harry was grinning and laughing as he shot towards the ceiling, searching for the key, as Draco smiled too until Harry could forget the way Fate and Destiny were so closely threaded into his life. He could forget everything other than the way Draco’s eyes lit up and his blond hair fell in his eyes as the air displaced it.

Without warning, he shot towards the ground, hand outstretched until his nimble fingers closed around the key and he landed softly on the ground, grinning up at a frozen Harry.

“Maybe I should replace you as Seeker!”

Harry smiled in return as he landed. “Maybe I should replace you as Chaser.”

“I’d like to see you keep up with all the formations.”

Harry remembered the days spent in the field by the burrow as he laughed with the Weasleys and tossed a Quaffle around. He made a decent Chaser, but Seeker was the position for him.

He slid the key into the lock, hearing the click as they entered the next room.

“Is it… a graveyard?” Draco asked uncertainly.

Harry stepped forward, a grim press to his lips. “Chess.”

Even after all the games Ron thrashed him at, Harry was still the worst chess player in the school. Blaise found it amusing to challenge him to a game knowing he won’t back down and then proceed to win in just a handful of moves. Draco was the best player in Slytherin house, a position he crowed over the other disgruntled snakes.

Harry watched as those grey eyes lit up and Draco enthusiastically manipulated the board. Within five minutes they were across the room, crumbled stone slumped behind them and the White Queen’s crown on a victorious blond head. No one had been sacrificed and Draco smirked vindictively every time he looked back.

The troll still stank like a public toilet, but thankfully Quirrell had sorted that one out for them. Harry didn’t know if he could take another troll out with a well placed Confringo. The ceiling would probably collapse with the force of the spell and then where would they be?

They stepped through the door, Draco far more nervous than Harry.

He hovered uncertainly by the flames, glancing at Harry before dithering.

Harry frowned at the fire. It looked like normal fire, it felt like a normal fire, but…

 _“Illusion magic is old and purely a Mind Magic, it says. I don’t reckon it’d help you breath underwater for an hour, Harry,” Hermione the Fourth Year Gryffindor said as she sighed and put ‘_ Ten Types of Magics that Can Help in Any Situation’ _back on the shelf._

“Draco,” Harry said as he swallowed, “You can’t follow me from here.”

“What?! Why-?!”

Harry stepped towards him, green eyes so earnest and sincere that Draco sighed, the anger draining from him. “Because I care for you.”

Draco startled.

Harry swallowed.

“Because I care for you more than anything and I can’t let you follow me.”

He looked at Draco again, at the sharp cheekbones, perfect nose and winsome eyes. “Because I care for you, you’re going to stay here.” He wilfully ignored the way his voice cracked, “You’re going to wait here until Dumbledore comes and then you’re going to wait in the Hospital Wing for me.”

“Hospital Wing? Harry- what-?”

But Harry had already given him one last smile and in a crackle of flames, he’d stepped through the fire.

* * *

“Hello, Professor.”

Quirrell turned, surprise in his eyes before it was covered with a cruel smirk. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me here, did you, Potter?”

 _Dark Lords are so melodramatic_.

“I did, actually.”

Quirrell spluttered for a moment, looking less sure of himself by the minute.

“You see,” Harry continued idly, “Who else would put on such a show by turning their own lessons into a joke just to hide the fact that they have a _Dark Lord_ on the back of their head?”

Quirrell paled.

Harry’s face twisted into something icy and unrecognisable. The creature in his chest bared its sharp teeth.

“You, Professor.”

The almost miniscule flecks of red in Quirrell’s eyes grew larger and suddenly that high, cold voice was shrieking, “Seize him!”

Vines, cool and tight wrapped around him and in a blind moment of panic, he felt just as he did when he was trapped to the graveyard in Little Hangleton, wand out of reach and knife drawing closer.

_Helpless._

_Coward._

_Weak._

_‘I’m not **weak**!’ _

Harry Potter _snapped_.

Magic, cold and untameable burst from his chest as the creature in his chest broke free of its chains.

Frost spread across the walls as fire leapt from the shadows, the vines crumbling to ash as wild magic _twisted_. Voldemort was screaming in pain somewhere and Quirrell was turning to cinders, but Harry barely noticed. This was power; this – the rush in his blood and the magic in his veins. It was dark and fierce and _cold_ , but it was _his_ and it was _power_. And amongst it all, amongst the smoking shadows and roaring flames, a small boy with raven hair and eery green eyes sat in front of a strange mirror, an odd reflection staring back, a cloak, a stone and a wand in his hands and a secretive lilt to his lips.

And then the magic was dying and the boy was falling but the walls of Hogwarts would always remember the raw power that flooded her halls as the boy tumbled further down the abyss that was the rabbit hole.


	17. In which we hear from Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Death is my friend, Draco.” He murmured, “Death is my friend but he denied me. Would you deny me?”

_He wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume_

_There is fire in his eyes_

_and ice in his veins_

_but you love him anyway_

_for he is a star_

_burning with the light of a thousand suns_

_(and your world is dark without him)_

* * *

Draco Malfoy had never been so scared in his life.

It all started in the entrance hall when he, Blaise and Harry – oh, _Harry_ – saw Filch waiting with that nasty smirk of his and that awful cat, Mrs Norris, slinking around their feet almost gleefully. Draco should have known something was wrong then. It was common knowledge that Filch – the miserable old _bastard_ that he was – took vindictive pleasure in the punishments of wrongdoers. Draco should also have known that detentions in the Forbidden Forest only ever resulted in spilt blood.

There was a reason the forest was forbidden, and as twigs snapped under his foot and Harry’s eyes glanced around – not fearful, _never_ fearful – he should have known something was wrong.

He didn’t have a warning before something oppressive and heavy stole all the air from his lungs and he was being shoved behind Harry – brave, _brave_ Harry – who’s face was crumpled in pain but still fighting. A warrior. In that moment, Draco understood those stories his mother would tell him every night before he went to bed, with the fire roaring in the grate and warm hot chocolate in his hands. She would whisper tales of brave men and women who defied till their dying breath, soldiers and warriors and fighters that fought for what was _right_ , not what was easy. Harry remained with his wand in hand and defiance in his stance even as he stood against the hooded figure with the silver blood dripping from his lips.

He remembered that heart stopping moment when Harry fell, eyes closed and skin pale and Draco would remember that until his death, that blind second when he thought Harry was dead and he was alone again.

It wasn’t easy, being the sole heir of a Noble and Ancient house. There were expectations and rules at every turn until he was bound so tightly in chains, he could barely breath without someone tracking his every move. His father watched with torn eyes, the desire to just love his son without judgement or to abide by his ancestor’s rules and bring him up properly battling in his conflicted grey eyes. He did his best, but he was bound too, bound by perhaps even more chains than Draco. His mother cared for him in the way a mother should, but there was always a certain distance to her affection, a coolness in her eyes that would always remain. A souvenir from being part of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

He attended gatherings and balls. He made connections with the children his age. He sat as still as he could when his father dragged him along for meetings, trying to pretend that he wasn’t bored out of his wits. He let mindless girls play at Ladies as they clutched his arm and pretended they cared. He pretended to be Draco Malfoy, only son of the Malfoys and the Heir. He gelled his hair and wrinkled his nose. He was perfect. He knew that muggles were scum – _but are they? Are they really?_ – and mudbloods were beneath him – _but are they? Are they really?_

He knew who he was, who he was to be.

He knew, he knew, he _knew._

Until a boy with extremely messy hair and a bright grin hopped onto the stool besides him in Madam Malkins and flipped his world on its axis.

Harry Potter bought with him a whirlwind of ideas and beliefs and- _I knew a muggleborn. Brightest witch of her age._

Harry Potter was bound in chains too, bound in public expectations and ideals and all the legends that surrounded the Boy-Who-Lived but _somehow,_ he managed to find the keys and free himself. He was the fierce protectiveness of a blazing inferno, the freedom of soaring in the wind and the sharpness of ice piercing the skin, all at once.

He walked into Draco’s life with sparkling green eyes that gleamed like the night sky as if he were always meant to be there.

Suddenly, there were no expectations, no rules and twisted senses of duty to fulfil, no shackles waiting to be clipped around his wrists. He wasn’t Draco - _My father will hear about this!_ – Malfoy, but simply Draco, best friend to Harry Potter and free to spread his cramped wings and fly for the first time. Laughter became natural instead of occasional titters that echoed in the silence of the manor. Smiles pulled at his lips and friends became more than just networking opportunities. Theo was a right flirt that would probably loose his virginity the moment he could, Blaise was a sap that secretly spent his free time reading sappy romance novels, Pansy was a gossip that aspired to take over her mother’s job as editor of _Witch Weekly_ as soon as possible and Harry…

Harry was Harry.

He was the one that all eyes were drawn to the minute he entered the room, the one that captured attention obviously but never noticed. He was the one that did insane dives on a broom that gave Draco a heart attack but always emerged with a snitch clutched in his fist and a smile on his face. He was madness with a dash of insanity, but Harry. Always Harry.

But sometimes… sometimes Draco worried about him.

There were moments when the silence would stretch and he’d look at Harry and see him staring at the wall but not truly seeing, when his eyes would be distant and dull. It was the look his mother would get when she spoke of the horrors of the war, the tales that fell from her lips when she couldn’t hold them in anymore and Draco’s ears were the only ones to listen. He’d say odd things about Gryffindors and cupboards and wands and cloaks and stones, but Draco couldn’t make neither heads nor tails from it.

Sometimes he’d remember, when sleep wouldn’t claim him and he was left staring at his canopy as the stars faded and the sun rose, that bitter smile of Harry’s lips as he held a bottle of Firewhiskey and murmured, “Not always,” like it meant something deeper than words suggest. He’d remember the cold eyes and clenched fists before they were gone in a blink and he was blabbering about nargles and Luna’s and frowns.

Harry didn’t fit one category of light or dark, good or bad. Harry was both in the sense that he did what was right, no matter the consequences.

He was strange and a total contradictory of every role he had been taught, but Harry was his in the way he was sure he was Harry’s.

As Draco sat beside his bed in the Hospital Wing and felt the guilt clawing at his gut for letting Harry go through the fire alone, he couldn’t help but wish he could find his own key and be free like the boy laying beside him.

Dumbledore – _‘Worse thing that’s ever happened to Hogwarts,’ Father said with a sneer_ – had stopped by earlier when Harry awoke. They spoke of a Stone and a Mirror and Love, but Harry was oddly quiet. He spoke in soft murmurs, eyes flitting about like a caged animal and gripping the bedsheets, even as the Headmaster spoke in cheery tones.

_“Draco,” Harry said as he swallowed, “You can’t follow me from here.”_

_“What?! Why-?!”_

_Harry stepped towards him, green eyes so earnest and sincere that Draco sighed, the anger draining from him. “Because I care for you.”_

_Draco startled._

_Harry swallowed._

_“Because I care for you more than anything and I can’t let you follow me.”_

_He looked at Draco again, at the sharp cheekbones, perfect nose and winsome eyes. “Because I care for you, you’re going to stay here.” He wilfully ignored the way his voice cracked, “You’re going to wait here until Dumbledore comes and then you’re going to wait in the Hospital Wing for me.”_

_“Hospital Wing? Harry- what-?”_

_But Harry had already given him one last smile and in a crackle of flames, he’d stepped through the fire._

Harry had looked into his eyes with an intensity that he’d never had before, and he’d smiled like he was saying goodbye.

 _‘Because I care for you more than anything and I can’t let you follow me_.’

The Headmaster had left a few hours ago but Draco had remained under the Invisibility Cloak that he’d borrowed from Harry’s trunk and he’d waited as Pomfrey dosed his best friend with potions and enough spells to knock out a giant.

“Why are we here, Draco?”

He swallowed, heart thumping at the scare. But no; it wasn’t _‘why are_ you _here?’_ , it was ‘ _why are_ we _here?’_.

Moonlight fell across the floor, the world so still and quiet outside the confines of the Hogwarts walls. Harry sounded odd. His arm was laying across his forehead, but he wasn’t looking at Draco. No, he was staring out at the window, that horribly distant look in his eyes.

“Why are we here when I’m dead and you’re lost?”

It doesn’t make sense but Draco listens. Draco listens because he feels that the moment their sharing in something more than it appears to be. Something deeper than the air they breathe.

“Why is it cold, Draco?” he whispered, eyes still staring out of the window like he could see beyond mortal eyes, “Why did I have to die when they were already dead?”

_Dying._

It was a concept that Draco didn’t like to dwell on. Inevitable, death was. It came for you in the end, whether it be through grey hair and old eyes, or youthful arrogance or tragic accidents. It was the end of the line, a solid fact that everything would one day fall to cinders and blow away in the winds.

“Death is my friend, Draco.” He murmured, “Death is my friend but he denied me. Would you deny me?”

Everything is spinning from his control. Harry didn’t want an answer.

“Death gave me his Cloak, you gave me his Wand and Dumbledore gave me his Stone. I wonder, Draco, I wonder if I can die.”

The world falls from his feet. Harry didn’t notice.

“Sometimes,” he continued softly, “Sometimes I wonder if we’re alike. Sometimes I wonder if the little boy in the Chamber was as scared as me, Draco. If he called for help and no one came. I called for help, Draco. No one came.”

 _No one came_.

“Sometimes,” his words were slow and tired, exhaustion on every syllable but still he did not stop looking out of that window, “Sometimes I wonder if there should have been a third lifeless body in Godric’s Hollow that night.”

Draco feels tears prickling at his eyes – _‘Malfoy’s don’t cry! Shut up, boy!’ Father shouted when he skimmed his knee and salty water ran down his cheeks_ – as he whispered, “Oh, Harry,” into the night, another secret shared under the moon and held in the illusion of silence. It wasn’t filled with affection as it had been months before, but with the heartbreak of helplessness.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

And only then did he realise that Harry Potter was crying too, for the first time since he had watched his red-headed best friend walk from their tent and dropped his heart in ice.

Draco shed the Cloak and crawled into bed beside him, holding Harry against him as he were the one in need of shelter.

And just once, _just once_ , the saviour let himself be saved.


	18. In which Harry is lost but we are found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm was coming and he had to be ready when it did.

_Golden child,_

_Lion boy;_

_Tell me what it's like to conquer._

_Fearless child_

_Broken boy;_

_Tell me what it's like to burn._

* * *

Harry is lost.

The countryside rushes past and there is laughter in the compartment, but he’s still lost.

Theo tricks him into a game of exploding snap. He smiles and laughs, but he’s still lost.

Pansy makes him promise to right lots and he does, but he’s still lost.

Blaise invites him to Italy for a week and he says he’ll think about it, but he’s still lost.

Draco makes jokes about his father’s peacocks, but he’s still lost.

Nothing has changed from then and now, but he feels something has.

There’s a detachment to his feelings that he can’t shake, a numbness to his heart that feels artificial. Sometimes he has to think about if he’s still breathing. If his lungs had stopped filling and he was just dead. If time had rushed past without him and he was still there.

He’s lost and lost and _lost_ and nothing has fixed it.

They won the house cup – _he is lost_ – they won the Quidditch cup – _he is lost_ – they weren’t given summer homework – _he is lost_ – but nothing heals the emptiness that used to be his heart.

 _Nothing_ has changed, he has to remind himself. Nothing has changed but something within him has.

The countryside turns into rundown buildings and rundown buildings turn into stations until laughing students are reuniting with families, but he’s still lost.

There’s a certain coldness in his eyes, a danger in the green, but it is unrecognisable to all but one.

It doesn’t matter though, as he shakes Lucius Malfoy’s hand and smiles at Narcissa Malfoy. It doesn’t matter because ever since that moment when the creature became free, he has been lost. It took something with him, and Harry doesn’t know how to get it back.

He waves goodbye to Draco and the rest of his friends before it’s only a barrier that’s separating him from too-big clothes and cold cans of soup.

Something sparks within him, an ember that thaws the ice just a bit, but it is enough for the darkness to fade and for he to find his way again.

It’s mad, his plan. It’s insane and wild and spontaneous but it makes that terrible cold warm and that is enough.

He walks through the barrier and into muggle London and- _there they are._

Looking impatient and angry are the Dursleys. Vernon red in the face and Petunia paler than a sheet of paper. Dudley looks skittish and frightened, looking at everyone and everything like they’re about to pull out a wand and transfigure him into a rubbish bag.

_Not much difference between the two. Wouldn’t be that difficult…_

Harry smiles for just the briefest of moments but it’s the truest thing to happen all day.

He thinks fast, plans and insane plots forming in his mind before he settles on one. It relies on the house on question, but Harry is sure it would yield to him.

His wand slips from his sleeve and he mutters a spell under his breath. He’s close enough to the barrier for the Trace to be confused.

The Dursleys glance around, confused frowns on their faces before they turn and walk back to their car, glancing around in bemusement.

Harry let Hedwig out of her cage, whispered the address, and as she hooted softly and nipped his fingers, Harry felt that void fill just a bit. The creature slumbers in his chest.

He walks to a dark alley just by the station, good enough for what he needs it for. Apparation could be tracked by the ministry, but Harry trusts the Black wards to hold.

Harry is lost but he’ll find his way. A storm was coming, and he had to be ready when it did.

He disappears with a _crack_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished.
> 
> I actually can't believe it. 
> 
> I've never finished a fic before. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to edit this while I plan book 2 sooooo... yeah. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for commenting and leaving kudos. It means a lot :) 
> 
> I never planned the storyline in this. It was always- sit down, laptop out and write. The ideas came and they went, depression dropped in to visit and then finally, finally its done. 
> 
> :)


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